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COMUS-AND-IYi 


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L'ALLEGRO,  IL  PENSEROSO,  COMUS 
AND  LYCIDAS 


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After  an  engraving  by  FAITHORNE. 


MILTON'S 

L' ALLEGRO,  IL  PENSEROSO,  COMUS 
AND  LYCIDAS 


Edited 
With  Introduction  and  Notes 

BY 

TULEY  FRANCIS  HUNTINGTON,  A.M. 

(harvard) 

instructor  in  english  in  the  leland  stanford  junior  university 

sometime  head  of  the  department  of  english  in 

the  south  side  high  school,  milwaukee 


BOSTON,   U.S.A.  : 
GINN   &    COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 

1900 


Copyright,  1900,  by 
TULEY   FRANCIS   HUNTINGTON 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


EDUCATION  DEPT. 


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PREFACE 


In  Milton's  Tractate  of  Education  there  is  a  passage  which 
suggests  in  figure  and  with  fine  harmony  the  duty  as  well  as  the 
delight  of  every  reader  of  Milton's  poetry.  "  I  shall  .  .  .  straight 
conduct  you  to  a  hill-side,"  writes  Milton  to  Master  Hartlib, 
"where  I  will  point  you  out  the  right  path  of  a  virtuous  and 
noble  education,  laborious  indeed  at  the  first  ascent,  but  also  so 
smooth,  so  green,  so  full  of  goodly  prospect  and  melodious  sounds, 
that  the  harp  of  Orpheus  was  not  more  charming."  With  the 
reader  of  Milton,  in  like  manner,  the  effort,  laborious  though  it 
be,  must  ever  precede  the  pleasure.  Every  line,  every  word  of 
Milton's  poetry  has  its  meaning,  and  very  often  diligent  search 
must  be  made  for  it ;  but  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  he  who  gives 
his  days  and  nights  to  the  search  for  this  meaning  and  finds  it 
wins  for  himself  a  culture  scarcely  less  precious  than  Milton's  own 
"  virtuous  and  noble  education." 

Since  so  much  has  been  written  about  Milton,  and  that,  too,  so 
ably,  it  seemed  wiser  to  give  in  the  Introduction  to  the  present 
volume  the  best  of  what  has  been  written  by  some  of  the  more 
modern  critics  about  the  poems  here  edited  rather  than  to  attempt 
a  criticism  which  could  hardly  hope  to  equal,  much  less  to  better, 
what  has  already  been  so  admirably  done.  Furthermore,  the  diver- 
gence of  views  expressed  by  the  critics  here  quoted  will  give  the 
student  abundant  opportunity  for  discussion,  and  thereby  lead  to 
the  formation  of  opinions  more  just  than  could  possibly  result 
from  the  perusal  of  any  one  man's  single  criticism. 

The  text  of  the  poems  is  taken  from  Masson's  library  edition 
of  Milton's  poetical  works.  Here,  as  in  the  case  of  the  selections 
printed  in  the  Introduction,  the  reprint  is  as  exact  as  it  was 
possible  to  make  it. 

The  Notes,  as  must  be  the  case  where  serious  study  is  to  be 
made  of  poems  whose  lines  have  been  so  much  fought  over  by 
scholars  as  these  of  Milton,  are  necessarily  rather  full.  Several 
important  interpretations  are  sometimes  given  to  a  single  passage. 


viil  PREFACE. 

The  necessity  the  student  is  thus  put  to  in  choosing  the  most 
reasonable  of  these  —  and  it  is  the  business  of  the  teacher  to  see 
that  he  has  good  reasons  for  his  preference  —  ought  to  lead  to 
clear  thinking.  The  study  of  parallel  passages  should  be  left 
ordinarily  to  the  maturer  work  of  the  college,  but  in  the  case  of 
Milton  some  work  of  this  sort  is  absolutely  essential  to  an  appre- 
ciation of  his  genius.  Some  limit  needs  to  be  set,  however,  and 
hence  all  parallel  passages  in  works  later  than  Milton's  time, 
with  two  or  three  exceptions,  are  rigidly  excluded,  while  those  in 
works  before  his  time  are  given  only  where  the  resemblance  is  so 
close  as  to  make  it  probable  that  they  were  actually  suggestive  to 
him.  Passages  in  the  Bible,  in  Shakspere,  and  in  Milton's  other 
poems  are  merely  cited,  it  being  supposed  that  every  student  has 
at  hand  a  Bible  and  the  works  of  Milton  and  Shakspere.  These 
passages  should  in  every  case  be  looked  up,  both  for  the  light 
they  will  throw  upon  the  text  and  for  the  familiarity  this  sort  of 
reference  will  breed  with  three  of  the  world's  great  books.  Ques- 
tions and  problems,  such  as  the  editor's  experience  in  teaching 
High  School  students  has  shown  him  can  be  profitably  set  for 
independent  study,  are  dispersed  throughout  the  Notes. 

The  obligations  of  the  editor  are  many.  In  the  Notes  use 
has  been  made  of  all  the  important  editions  of  Milton's  works, 
from  Newton's  to  the  present  time,  and  with  the  exception  of  the 
matter  taken  from  the  editions  of  Warton  and  Keightley,  to  which 
the  editor  unfortunately  did  not  have  access,  all  quotations  and 
citations  are  made  at  first  hand.  In  the  case  of  the  exceptions, 
the  editor  has  consulted  such  reliable  sources,  usually  indicated 
in  the  Notes,  that  it  is  hoped  no  inaccuracy  has  resulted.  Credit 
has  everywhere  been  freely  given  for  all  matter  which  did  not 
seem  common  property.  To  the  Macmillan  Company  the  editor 
is  indebted  for  permission  to  use  Masson's  text  and  three  of  the 
selections  in  the  Introduction.  For  other  copyrighted  material  in 
the  Introduction  he  is  indebted  to  Harper  &  Brothers,  to  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  to  Walter  Scott,  to  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  and 
to  Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Triibner  &  Co.  Prof.  Albert  E.  Jack 
of  Lake  Forest  University  offered  a  number  of  suggestions,  which 
have  been  made  use  of  in  the  Notes. 

T.  F.  H. 

Stanford  University,  California, 
October  i6,  1899. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction a 

Critical  Comments ad 

Bibliographical  Note i 

L'Allegro I 

II  Penseroso 7 

CoMus 14 

Lycidas 50 

Notes 59 


INTRODUCTION. 


I.    CRITICAL    COMMENTS. 

WORDSWORTH'S    SONNET   TO   MILTON.l 

Milton  !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour : 

England  hath  need  of  thee :  she  is  a  fen 

Of  stagnant  waters  :  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 

Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  EngHsh  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men ; 

Oh !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again ; 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart : 

Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea : 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free. 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 

In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

[Brooke,  English  Literature^  pp.  i6i -168.2] 

John  Milton  was  the  last  of  the  Elizabethans,  and, 
except   Shakespeare,  far  the  greatest  of   them  all.     Born 

1  This,  Milton's  own  On  the  Late  Massacre  in  Piedmont^  and  Keats's 
On  First  Looking  into  Chapman'' s  Homer  are  among  the  best  sonnets 
in  our  language.  For  some  comments  on  the  first  line  of  the  present 
sonnet,  see  the  introductory  essay  in  Ernest  Myers's  Selected  Prose  Writ- 
ings of  John  Milton. 

2  For  some  strictures  on  Brooke's  criticism  as  it  was  originally  pub- 
lished, see  Matthew  Arnold's  essay  entitled  A  Guide  to  English  Literature. 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

in  1608,  in  Bread  Street  (close  by  the  Mermaid  Tavern), 
he  may  have  seen  Shakespeare,  for  he  remained  till  he  was 
sixteen  in  London.  His  literary  life  may  be  said  to  begin 
with  his  entrance  into  Cambridge,  in  1625,  the  year  of  the 
accession  of  Charles  I.  Nicknamed  the  "  Lady  of  Christ's  " 
from  his  beauty,  delicate  taste,  and  moral  life,  he  soon 
attained  a  reputation  by  his  Latin  poems  and  discourses, 
and  by  his  English  poems  which  revealed  as  clear  and 
original  a  genius  as  that  of  Chaucer  and  Spenser.  Of 
Milton  even  more  than  of  the  two  others,  it  may  be  said 
that  he  was  "whole  in  himself,  and  owed  to  none."  The 
Ode  to  the  Nativity^  1629,  the  third  poem  he  composed,  while 
it  went  back  to  the  Elizabethan  age  in  beauty,  in  instinc- 
tive fire,  went  forward  into  a  new  world  of  art,  the  world 
where  the  architecture  of  the  lyric  is  finished  with  majesty 
and  music.  The  next  year  heard  the  noble  sounding  strains 
of  At  a  Solemn  Music ;  and  the  sonnet.  On  Attaining  the 
Age  of  Twenty-three^  reveals  in  dignified  beauty  that  intense 
personality  which  lives,  like  a  force,  through  every  line  he 
wrote.  He  left  the  university  in  1632,  and  went  to  live  at 
Horton,  near  Windsor,  where  he  spent  five  years,  steadily 
reading  the  Greek  and  Latin  writers,  and  amusing  himself 
with  mathematics  and  music.  Poetry  was  not  neglected. 
The  Allegro  and  Penseroso  were  written  in  1633  and  prob- 
ably the  Arcades ;  Comus  was  acted  in  1634,  and  Lycidas 
composed  in  1637.  They  prove  that  though  Milton  was 
Puritan  in  heart  his  Puritanism  was  of  that  earlier  type 
which  disdained  neither  the  arts  nor  letters.  But  they 
represent  a  growing  revolt  from  the  Court  and  the  Church. 
The  Penseroso  prefers  the  contemplative  life  to  the  mirth- 
ful, and  Comus ^  though  a  masque,  rose  into  a  celestial  poem 
to  the  glory  of  temperance,  and  under  its  allegory  attacked 
the  Court.     Three  years  later,  Lycidas  interrupts  its  exqui- 


INTRODUCTION.  xili 

site  stream  of  poetry  with  a  fierce  and  resolute  onset  on 
the  greedy  shepherds  of  the  Church.  Milton  had  taken  his 
Presbyterian  bent. 

In  1638  he  went  to  Italy,  the  second  home  of  so  many 
of  the  English  poets,  visited  Florence  where  he  saw  Galileo, 
and  then  passed  on  to  Rome.  At  Naples  he  heard  the  sad 
news  of  civil  war,  which  determined  him  to  return  ;  "  inas- 
much as  I  thought  it  base  to  be  traveling  at  my  ease  for 
amusement,  while  my  fellow-countrymen  at  home  were 
fighting  for  liberty."  At  the  meeting  of  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment we  find  him  in  a  house  in  Aldersgate,  where  he  lived 
till  1645.  He  had  projected  while  abroad  a  great  epic 
poem  on  the  subject  of  Arthur,  but  in  London  his  mind 
changed,  and  among  a  number  of  subjects,  tended  at  last 
to  Paradise  Lost^  which  he  meant  to  throw  into  the  form  of 
a  Greek  Tragedy  with  lyrics  and  choruses. 

Suddenly  his  whole  life  changed,  and  for  twenty  years 
— 1640-60 — -he  was  carried  out  of  art  into  politics,  out 
of  poetry  into  prose.  Most  of  the  Sonnets^  however,  belong 
to  this  time.  Stately,  rugged,  or  graceful,  as  he  pleased  to 
make  them,  some  with  the  solemn  grandeur  of  Hebrew 
psalms,  others  having  the  classic  ease  of  Horace,  some  of 
his  own  grave  tenderness,  they  are  true,  unlike  those  of 
Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  to  the  correct  form  of  this  dif- 
ficult kind  of  poetry.  But  they  were  all  he  could  now  do 
of  his  true  work.  Before  the  Civil  War  began  in  1642,  he 
had  written  five  vigorous  pamphlets  against  Episcopacy. 
Six  more  pamphlets  appeared  in  the  next  two  years.  One 
of  these  was  the  Areopagitica  ;  or,  Speech  for  the  Liberty  of 
Unlicensed  Printing,  1644,  a  bold  and  eloquent  attack  on 
the  censorship  of  the  press  by  the  Presbyterians.  Another, 
remarkable,  like  the  Areopagitica,  for  its  finer  prose,  was  a 
tract  On  Education.     The  four  pamphlets  in  which  he  advo- 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

cated  conditional  divorce  made  him  still  more  the  horror 
of  the  Presbyterians.  In  1646  he  published  his  poems,  and 
in  that  year  the  sonnet  On  the  Forcers  of  Conscience  shows 
that  he  had  wholly  ceased  to  be  Presbyterian.  His  politi- 
cal pamphlets  begin  when  his  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magis- 
trates defended  in  1649  the  execution  of  the  king.  The 
Eikonoclastes  answered  the  Eikofi  Basilike  (a  portraiture  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  king) ;  and  his  famous  Latin  Defence 
for  the  People  of  England^  1 65 1,  replied  to  Salmasius's  Defence 
of  Charles  /.,  and  inflicted  so  pitiless  a  lashing  on  the  great 
Leyden  scholar  that  Milton's  fame  went  over  the  whole  of 
Europe.  In  the  next  year  he  wholly  lost  his  sight.  But 
he  continued  his  work  (being  Latin  secretary  since  1649) 
when  Cromwell  was  made  Protector,  and  wrote  another 
Defence  for  the  English  People^  1654,  and  a  further  Defence 
of  Himself  against  scurrilous  charges.  This  closed  the 
controversy  in  1655.  In  the  last  year  of  the  Protector's 
life  he  began  the  Paradise  Losty  but  the  death  of  Cromwell 
threw  him  back  into  politics,  and  three  more  pamphlets  on 
the  questions  of  a  Free  Church  and  a  free  Commonwealth 
were  useless  to  prevent  the  Restoration.  It  was  a  wonder 
he  was  not  put  to  death  in  1660,  and  he  was  in  hiding  and 
also  in  custody  for  a  time.  At  last  he  settled  in  a  house 
near  Bunhill  Fields.  It  was  here  that  Paradise  Lost  was 
finished,  before  the  end  of  1665,  and  then  published  in 
1667. 

We  may  regret  that  Milton  was  shut  away  from  his  art 
during  twenty  years  of  controversy.  But  it  may  be  that 
the  poems  he  wrote  when  the  great  cause  he  fought  for  had 
closed  in  seeming  defeat  but  real  victory,  gained  from  its 
solemn  issues  and  from  the  moral  grandeur  with  which  he 
wrought  for  its  ends  their  majestic  movement,  their  grand 
style,  and  their  grave  beauty.     During  the  struggle  he  had 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

never  forgotten  his  art.  "  I  may  one  day  hope,"  he  said, 
speaking  of  his  youthful  studies,  "  to  have  ye  again,  in  a 
still  time,  when  there  shall  be  no  chiding.  Not  in  these 
Noises,"  and  the  saying  strikes  the  note  of  calm  sublimity 
which  is  kept  in  Paradise  Lost. 

As  we  read  the  great  epic,  we  feel  that  the  lightness  of 
heart  of  the  Allegro^  that  even  the  quiet  classic  philosophy 
of  the  ComuSy  are  gone.  The  beauty  of  the  poem  is  like 
that  of  a  stately  temple,  which,  vast  in  conception,  is 
involved  in  detail.  The  style  is  the  greatest  in  the  whole 
range  of  English  poetry.  Milton's  intellectual  force  sup- 
ports and  condenses  his  imaginative  force,  and  his  art  is 
almost  too  conscious  of  itself.  Sublimity  is  its  essential 
difference.  The  subject  is  one  phase  of  the  great  and  uni- 
versal subject  of  high  poetic  thought  and  passion,  that 
struggle  of  Light  with  Darkness,  of  Evil  with  Good,  which, 
arising  in  a  hundred  myths,  keeps  its  undying  attraction 
to  the  present  day.  But  its  great  difficulty  in  his  case 
was  that  he  was  obliged  to  interest  us,  for  a  great  part  of 
the  poem,  in  two  persons,  who,  being  innocent,  were  with- 
out any  such  play  of  human  passion  and  trouble  as  we  find 
in  CEdipus,  ^neas,  Hamlet,  or  Alceste.  In  the  noble  art 
with  which  this  is  done  Milton  is  supreme.  The  interest 
of  the  story  collects  at  first  round  the  character  of  Satan, 
but  he  grows  meaner  as  the  poem  develops,  and  his  second 
degradation  after  he  has  destroyed  innocence  is  one  of  the 
finest  and  most  consistent  motives  in  the  poem.  This  at 
once  disposes  of  the  view  that  Milton  meant  Satan  to  be 
the  hero  of  the  epic.  His  hero  is  Man.  The  deep  tender- 
ness of  Milton,  his  love  of  beauty,  the  passionate  fitness  of 
his  words  to  his  work,  his  religious  depth,  fill  the  scenes 
in  which  he  paints  Paradise,  our  parents  and  their  fall,  and 
at  last  all  thought  and  emotion  center  round  Adam  and  Eve, 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

until  the  closing  lines  leave  us  with  their  lonely  image  on 
our  minds.  In  every  part  of  the  poem,  in  every  character 
in  it,  as  indeed  in  all  his  poems,  Milton's  intense  individu- 
ality appears.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  find  it.  The  egotism  of 
such  a  man,  said  Coleridge,  is  a  revelation  of  spirit. 

Paradise  Lost  was  followed  by  Paradise  Regained  and 
Samson  Agonistes,  published  together  in  1671.  Paradise 
Regained  opens  with  the  journey  of  Christ  into  the  wilder- 
ness after  his  baptism,  and  its  four  books  describe  the 
temptation  of  Christ  by  Satan,  and  the  answers  and  vic- 
tory of  the  Redeemer.  The  speeches  in  it  overwhelm  the 
action,  and  their  learned  argument  is  only  relieved  by  a  few 
descriptions ;  but  these,  as  in  that  of  Athens,  are  done 
with  Milton's  highest  power.  Its  solemn  beauty  of  quietude, 
and  a  more  severe  style  than  that  of  Paradise  Lost^  make 
us  feel  in  it  that  Milton  has  grown  older. 

In  Samson  Agonistes  the  style  is  still  severer,  even  to 
the  verge  of  a  harshness  which  the  sublimity  alone  tends 
to  modify.  It  is  a  choral  drama,  after  the  Greek  model. 
Samson  in  his  blindness  is  described,  is  called  on  to  make 
sport  for  the  Philistines,  and  overthrows  them  in  the  end. 
Samson  represents  the  fallen  Puritan  cause,  and  Samson's 
victorious  death  Milton's  hopes  for  the  final  triumph  of 
that  cause.  The  poem  has  all  the  grandeur  of  the  last 
words  of  a  great  man  in  whom  there  was  now  "  calm  of 
mind,  all  passion  spent."  It  is  also  the  last  word  of  the 
music  of  the  Elizabethan  drama  long  after  its  notes  seemed 
hushed,  and  its  deep  sound  is  strange  in  the  midst  of 
the  shallow  noise  of  the  Restoration.  Soon  afterwards, 
November,  1674,  blind  and  old  and  fallen  on  evil  days, 
Milton  died ;  but  neither  blindness,  old  age,  nor  evil  days 
could  lessen  the  inward  light,  nor  impair  the  imaginative 
power  with  which  he  sang,  it  seemed  with  the  angels,  the 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

"undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent,"  until  he  joined  him- 
self, at  last,  with  those  "just  spirits  who  wear  victorious 
palms." 

To  the  greatness  of  the  artist  Milton  joined  the  majesty 
of  a  clear  and  lofty  character.  His  poetic  style  was  as 
stately  as  his  character,  and  proceeded  from  it.  Living  at 
a  time  when  criticism  began  to  purify  the  verse  of  England, 
and  being  himself  well  acquainted  with  the  great  classical 
models,  his  work  is  seldom  weakened  by  the  false  conceits 
and  the  intemperance  of  the  Elizabethan  writers,  and  yet  is 
as  imaginative  as  theirs,  and  as  various.  He  has  not  their 
naturalness,  nor  all  their  intensity,  but  he  has  a  larger 
grace,  a  lovelier  colour,  a  closer  eye  for  nature,  a  more 
finished  art,  and  a  sublime  dignity  they  did  not  possess. 
All  the  kinds  of  poetry  which  he  touched  he  touched  with 
the  ease  of  great  strength,  and  with  so  much  energy,  that 
they  became  new  in  his  hands.  He  put  a  fresh  life  into 
the  masque,  the  sonnet,  the  elegy,  the  descriptive  lyric, 
the  song,  the  choral  drama;  and  he  created  the  epic  in 
England.  The  lighter  love  poem  he  never  wrote,  and  we 
are  grateful  that  he  kept  his  coarse  satirical  power  apart 
from  his  poetry.  In  some  points  he  was  untrue  to  his 
descent  from  the  Elizabethans,  for  he  had  no  dramatic 
faculty,  and  he  had  no  humour.  He  summed  up  in  himself 
the  learned  and  artistic  influences  of  the  English  Renais- 
sance, and  handed  them  on  to  us.  His  taste  was  as  severe, 
his  verse  as  polished,  his  method  and  language  as  strict 
as  those  of  the  school  of  Dryden  and  Pope  that  grew 
up  when  he  was  old.  A  literary  past  and  present  thus  met 
in  him,  nor  did  he  fail,  like  all  the  greatest  men,  to  make  a 
cast  into  the  future.  He  established  the  poetry  of  pure 
natural  description.  Lastly,  he  did  not  represent  in  any 
way  the  England  that  followed  the  Stuarts,  but  he  did  rep- 


XVIU  INTRODUCTION. 

resent  Puritan  England,  and  the  whole  spirit  of  Puritanism 
from  its  cradle  to  its  grave. 

[Pattison,  Milton,  pp.  19,  24-29.] 

The  fame  of  the  author  of  Paradise  Lost  has  over-shad- 
owed that  of  the  author  of  L' Allegro,  II  Fenseroso,  and 
Lycidas.  Yet  had  Paradise  Lost  never  been  written,  these 
three  poems,  with  Co7?ius,  would  have  sufficed  to  place  their 
author  in  a  class  apart,  and  above  all  those  who  had  used 
the  English  language  for  poetical  purposes  before  him.  .  .  . 

^  #  #  #  :* 

...  a  naturalist  is  at  once  aware  that  Milton  had  neither 
the  eye  nor  the  ear  of  a  naturalist.  At  no  time,  even  before 
his  loss  of  sight,  was  he  an  exact  observer  of  natural 
objects.  It  may  be  that  he  knew  a  skylark  from  a  red- 
breast, and  did  not  confound  the  dog-rose  with  the  honey- 
suckle. But  I  am  sure  that  he  had  never  acquired  that 
interest  in  nature's  things  and  ways  which  leads  to  close 
and  loving  watching  of  them.  He  had  not  that  sense  of 
out-door  nature,  empirical  and  not  scientific,  which  endows 
the  Angler  of  his  cotemporary  Walton  with  his  enduring 
charm,  and  which  is  to  be  acquired  only  by  living  in  the 
open  country  in  childhood.  Milton  is  not  a  man  of  the 
fields,  but  of  books.  His  life  is  in  his  study,  and  when 
he  steps  abroad  into  the  air  he  carries  his  study  thoughts 
with  him.  He  does  look  at  nature,  but  he  sees  her  through 
books.  Natural  impressions  are  received  from  without, 
but  always  in  those  forms  of  beautiful  speech  in  which  the 
poets  of  all  ages  have  clothed  them.  His  epithets  are  not, 
like  the  epithets  of  the  school  of  Dryden  and  Pope,  culled 
from  the  Gradus  ad  Parnassum ;  they  are  expressive  of 
some  reality,  but  it  is  of  a  real  emotion  in  the  spectator's 


INTRODUCTION.  xix 

soul,  not  of  any  quality  detected  by  keen  insight  in  the 
objects  themselves.  This  emotion  Milton's  art  stamps 
with  an  epithet  which  shall  convey  the  added  charm  of 
classical  reminiscence.  When,  e.g.,  he  speaks  of  "the 
wand'ring  moon,"  the  original  significance  of  the  epithet 
comes  home  to  the  scholarly  reader  with  the  enhanced 
effect  of  its  association  with  the  "  errantem  lunam "  of 
Horace.  Nor  because  it  is  adopted  from  Horace  has  the 
epithet  here  the  second-hand  effect  of  a  copy.  If  Milton 
sees  nature  through  books,  he  still  sees  it. 

"  To  behold  the  wand'ring  moon, 
Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 
Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray, 
Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way, 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud." 

No  allegation  that  "  wand'ring  moon  "  is  borrowed  from 
Horace  can  hide  from  us  that  Milton,  though  he  remem- 
bered Horace,  had  watched  the  phenomenon  with  a  feeling 
so  intense  that  he  projected  his  own  soul's  throb  into  the 
object  before  him,  and  named  it  with  what  Thomson  calls 
"recollected  love." 

Milton's  attitude  toward  nature  is  not  that  of  a  scientific 
naturalist,  nor  even  that  of  a  close  observer.  It  is  that  of 
a  poet  who  feels  its  total  influence  too  powerfully  to  dissect 
it.  If,  as  I  have  said,  Milton  reads  books  first  and  nature 
afterwards,  it  is  not  to  test  nature  by  his  books,  but  to 
learn  from  both.  He  is  learning,  not  books,  but  from 
books.  All  he  reads,  sees,  hears,  is  to  him  but  nutriment 
for  the  soul.  He  is  making  himself.  Man  is  to  him  the 
highest  object ;  nature  is  subordinate  to  man,  not  only  in 
its  more  vulgar  uses,  but  as  an  excitant  of  fine  emotion. 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

He  is  not  concerned  to  register  the  facts  and  phenomena 
of  nature,  but  to  convey  the  impression  they  make  on  a 
sensitive  soul.  The  external  forms  of  things  are  to  be  pre- 
sented to  us  as  transformed  through  the  heart  and  mind  of 
the  poet.  The  moon  is  endowed  with  life  and  will,  "  stoop- 
ing," "riding,"  "wand'ring,"  "bowing  her  head,"  not  as  a 
frigid  personification,  and  because  the  ancient  poets  so  per- 
sonified her,  but  by  communication  to  her  of  the  intense 
agitation  which  the  nocturnal  spectacle  rouses  in  the  poet's 

own  breast. 

^       ^       -^       ^       Mi 

In  Milton,  nature  is  not  put  forward  as  the  poet's  theme. 
His  theme  is  man,  in  the  two  contrasted  moods  of  joyous 
emotion  or  grave  reflection.  The  shifting  scenery  ministers 
to  the  varying  mood.  Thomson,  in  the  Seasons  (1726),  sets 
himself  to  render  natural  phenomena  as  they  truly  are. 
He  has  left  us  a  vivid  presentation  in  gorgeous  language 
of  the  naturalistic  calendar  of  the  changing  year.  Milton, 
in  these  two  idylls,  has  recorded  a  day  of  twenty-four  hours. 
But  he  has  not  registered  the  phenomena ;  he  places  us  at 
the  standpoint  of  the  man  before  whom  they  deploy.  And 
the  man,  joyous  or  melancholy,  is  not  a  bare  spectator  of 
them ;  he  is  the  student,  compounded  of  sensibility  and 
intelligence,  of  whom  we  are  not  told  that  he  saw  so  and 
so,  or  that  he  felt  so,  but  with  whom  we  are  made  copart- 
ners of  his  thoughts  and  feeling.  Description  melts  into 
emotion,  and  contemplation  bodies  itself  in  imagery.  All 
the  charm  of  rural  life  is  there,  but  it  is  not  tendered  to  us 
in  the  form  of  a  landscape ;  the  scenery  is  subordinated 
to  the  human  figure  in  the  center. 

These  two  short  idylls  are  marked  by  a  gladsome  spon- 
taneity which  never  came  to  Milton  again.  The  delicate 
fancy   and    feeling    which    play   about   L Allegro   and   // 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

Penseroso  never  reappear,  and  form  a  strong  contrast  to 
the  austere  imaginings  of  his  later  poetical  period.  These 
two  poems  have  the  freedom  and  frolic,  the  natural  grace 
of  movement,  the  improvisation,  of  the  best  Elizabethan 
examples,  while  both  thoughts  and  words  are  under  a 
strict  economy  unknown  to  the  diffuse  exuberance  of  the 
Spenserians. 

In  Lycidas  (1637)  we  have  reached  the  high-water  mark 
of  English  poesy  and  of  Milton's  own  production.  A  period 
of  a  century  and  a  half  was  to  elapse  before  poetry  in  Eng- 
land seemed,  in  Wordsworth's  Ode  on  Immortality  (1807), 
to  be  rising  again  toward  the  level  of  inspiration  which  it 
had  once  attained  in  Lycidas.  And  in  the  development 
of  the  Miltonic  genius  this  wonderful  dirge  marks  the  cul- 
minating point.  As  the  twin  idylls  of  1632  show  a  great 
advance  upon  the  Ode  on  the  Nativity  (1629),  the  growth 
of  the  poetic  mind  during  the  five  years  which  follow  1632 
is  registered  in  Lycidas,  Like  the  V Allegro  and  //  Pen- 
seroso, Lycidas  is  laid  out  on  the  lines  of  the  accepted 
pastoral  fiction  ;  like  them  it  offers  exquisite  touches  of 
idealised  rural  life.  But  Lycidas  opens  up  a  deeper  vein 
of  feeling,  a  patriot  passion  so  vehement  and  dangerous 
that,  like  that  which  stirred  the  Hebrew  prophet,  it  is 
compelled  to  veil  itself  from  power,  or  from  sympathy,  in 
utterance  made  purposely  enigmatical.  The  passage  which 
begins  "  Last  came  and  last  did  go  "  raises  in  us  a  thrill  of 
awe-struck  expectation  which  I  can  only  compare  with  that 
excited  by  the  Cassandra  of  ^schylus's  Agamemnon.  For 
the  reader  to  feel  this,  he  must  have  present  in  memory  the 
circumstances  of  England  in  1637.  He  must  place  him- 
self as  far  as  possible  in  the  situation  of  a  cotemporary. 
The  study  of  Milton's  poetry  compels  the  study  of  his 
time;  and    Professor   Masson's   six  volumes   are   not  too 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

much  to  enable  us  to  understand  that  there  were  real 
causes  for  the  intense  passion  which  glows  underneath 
the  poet's  words  —  a  passion  which  unexplained  would  be 
thought  to  be  intrusive. 

The  historical  exposition  must  be  gathered  from  the 
English  history  of  the  period,  which  may  be  read  in  Pro- 
fessor Masson's  excellent  summary.  All  I  desire  to  point 
out  here  is,  that  in  Lycidas  Milton's  original  picturesque 
vein  is  for  the  first  time  crossed  with  one  of  quite  another 
sort,  stern,  determined,  obscurely  indicative  of  suppressed 
passion,  and  the  resolution  to  do  or  die.  The  fanaticism 
of  the  covenanter  and  the  sad  grace  of  Petrarch  seem  to 
meet  in  Milton's  monody.  Yet  these  opposites,  instead  of 
neutralising  each  other,  are  blended  into  one  harmonious 
whole  by  the  presiding,  but  invisible,  genius  of  the  poet. 
The  conflict  between  the  old  cavalier  world  —  the  years  of 
gaiety  and  festivity  of  a  splendid  and  pleasure-loving  court, 
and  the  new  Puritan  world  into  which  love  and  pleasure 
were  not  to  enter  —  this  conflict  which  was  commencing 
in  the  social  life  of  England,  is  also  begun  in  Milton's  own 
breast,  and  is  reflected  in  Lycidas. 

"  For  we  were  nurs'd  upon  the  self-same  hill." 

Here  is  the  sweet  mournfulness  of  the  Spenserian  time,  upon 
whose  joys  Death  is  the  only  intruder.  Pass  onward  a 
little,  and  you  are  in  presence  of  the  tremendous 

"  Two-handed  engine  at  the  door," 

the  terror  of  which  is  enhanced  by  its  obscurity.  We  are 
very  sure  that  the  avenger  is  there,  though  we  know  not 
who  he  is.  In  these  thirty  lines  we  have  the  preluding 
mutterings  of  the  storm  which  was  to  sweep  away  mask 
and  revel  and  song,   to  inhibit  the   drama,  and  suppress 


INTRODUCTION.  XXlll 

poetry.  In  the  earlier  poems  Milton's  muse  has  sung  in 
the  tones  of  the  age  that  is  passing  away ;  except  in  his 
austere  chastity,  a  cavalier.  Though  even  in  V Allegro  Dr. 
Johnson  truly  detects  "  some  melancholy  in  his  mirth."  In 
Lycidas^  for  a  moment,  the  tones  of  both  ages,  the  past  and 
the  coming,  are  combined,  and  then  Milton  leaves  behind 
him  forever  the  golden  age,  and  one  half  of  his  poetic 
genius.  He  never  fulfilled  the  promise  with  which  Lycidas 
concludes,  "To-morrow  to  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new." 


[Garnett,  Life  of  Milton,  pp.  49-54.] 

The  "Penseroso"  and  the  "Allegro,"  notwithstanding 
that  each  piece  is  the  antithesis  of  the  other,  are  comple- 
mentary rather  than  contrary,  and  may  be,  in  a  sense, 
regarded  as  one  poem,  whose  theme  is  the  praise  of  the 
reasonable  life.  It  resembles  one  of  those  pictures  in 
which  the  effect  is  gained  by  contrasted  masses  of  light 
and  shade,  but  each  is  more  nicely  mellowed  and  inter- 
fused with  the  qualities  of  the  other  than  it  lies  within  the 
resources  of  pictorial  skill  to  effect.  Mirth  has  an  under- 
tone of  gravity,  and  melancholy  of  cheerfulness.  There  is 
no  antagonism  between  the  states  of  mind  depicted ;  and 
no  rational  lover,  whether  of  contemplation  or  of  recrea- 
tion, would  find  any  difficulty  in  combining  the  two.  The 
limpidity  of  the  diction  is  even  more  striking  than  its 
beauty.  Never  were  ideas  of  such  dignity  embodied  in 
verse  so  easy  and  familiar,  and  with  such  apparent  absence 
of  effort.  The  landscape-painting  is  that  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  absolutely  true  in  broad  effects,  sometimes 
ill-defined  and  even  inaccurate  in  minute  details.  Some  of 
these  blemishes  are  terrible  in  nineteenth-century  eyes, 
accustomed    to   the    photography   of   our  Brownings  and 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

Patmores.  Milton  would  probably  have  made  light  of 
them,  and  perhaps  we  owe  him  some  thanks  for  thus  prac- 
tically refuting  the  heresy  that  inspiration  implies  infalli- 
bility. Yet  the  poetry  of  his  blindness  abounds  with  proof 
that  he  had  made  excellent  use  of  his  eyes  while  he  had 
them,  and  no  part  of  his  poetry  wants  instances  of  subtle 
and  delicate  observation  worthy  of  the  most  scrutinizing 
modern :  — 

"  Thee,  chantress,  oft  the  woods  among, 
I  woo,  to  hear  thy  evensong ; 
And,  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry,  smooth-shaven  green." 

"The  song  of  the  nightingale,"  remarks  Peacock,  "  ceases 
about  the  time  the  grass  is  mown."  The  charm,  however, 
is  less  in  such  detached  beauties,  however  exquisite,  than 
in  the  condensed  opulence  — "  every  epithet  a  text  for  a 
canto,"  says  Macaulay  —  and  in  the  general  impression  of 
"plain  living  and  high  thinking,"  pursued  in  the  midst  of 
every  charm  of  nature  and  every  refinement  of  culture,  com- 
bining the  ideal  of  Horton  with  the  ideal  of  Cambridge. 

"  Lycidas  "  is  far  more  boldly  conventional,  not  merely 
in  the  treatment  of  landscape,  but  in  the  general  concep- 
tion and  machinery.  An  initial  effort  of  the  imagination 
is  required  to  feel  with  the  poet ;  it  is  not  wonderful  that 
no  such  wing  bore  up  the  solid  Johnson.  Talk  of  Milton 
and  his  fellow-collegian  as  shepherds !  "  We  know  that 
they  never  drove  afield,  and  that  they  had  no  flocks  to 
batten."  There  is,  in  fact,  according  to  Johnson,  neither 
nature  nor  truth  nor  art  nor  pathos  in  the  poem,  for  all 
these  things  are  inconsistent  with  the  introduction  of  a 
shepherd  of  souls  in  the  character  of  a  shepherd  of  sheep. 
A  nineteenth-century  reader,  it  may  be  hoped,  finds  no 
more  difiiculty  in  idealizing  Edward  King  as  a  shepherd 


INTRODUCTION.  xxv 

than  in  personifying  the  ocean  calm  as  "  sleek  Panope  and 
all  her  sisters,"  which,  to  be  sure,  may  have  been  a  trouble 
to  Johnson.  If,  however,  Johnson  is  deplorably  prosaic, 
neither  can  we  agree  with  Pattison  that  "  in  *  Lycidas  '  we 
have  reached  the  high-water  mark  of  English  Poesy  and  of 
Milton's  own  production."  Its  innumerable  beauties  are 
rather  exquisite  than  magnificent.  It  is  an  elegy,  and  can- 
not, therefore,  rank  as  high  as  an  equally  consummate 
example  of  epic,  lyric,  or  dramatic  art.  Even  as  elegy 
it  is  surpassed  by  the  other  great  English  masterpiece, 
"Adonais,"  in  fire  and  grandeur.  There  is  no  incongruity 
in  "Adonais"  like  the  introduction  of  the  "pilot  of  the 
Galilean  lake";  its  invective  and  indignation  pour  natu- 
rally out  of  the  subject ;  their  expression  is  not,  as  in 
"  Lycidas,"  a  splendid  excrescence.  There  is  no  such 
example  of  sustained  eloquence  in  "  Lycidas  "  as  the  seven 
concluding  stanzas  of  "  Adonais  "  beginning,  "  Go  thou  to 
Rome."  But  the  balance  is  redressed  by  the  fact  that  the 
beauties  of  "  Adonai-s  "  are  mostly  of  the  imitable  sort,  and 
those  of  "  Lycidas  "  of  the  inimitable.  Shelley's  eloquence 
is  even  too  splendid  for  elegy.  It  wants  the  dainty  thrills 
and  tremors  of  subtle  versification,  and  the  witcheries  of 
verbal  magic  in  which  "Lycidas"  is  so  rich  —  "the  open- 
ing eyelids  of  the  morn ; "  "  smooth-sliding  Mincius, 
crowned  with  vocal  reeds  ;  "  Camus's  garment,  "  inwrought 
with  figures  dim ; "  "  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded 
mount ;  "  "  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills  ;  "  "  with 
eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay."  It  will  be  noticed 
that  these  exquisite  phrases  have  little  to  do  with  Lycidas 
himself,  and  it  is  a  fact  not  to  be  ignored,  that  though 
Milton  and  Shelley  doubtless  felt  more  deeply  than  Dryden 
when  he  composed  his  scarcely  inferior  threnody  on  Anne 
Killegrew,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  both  might  have  found 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

subjects  of  grief  that  touched  them  more  nearly.  Shelley- 
tells  us  frankly  that  "in  another's  woe  he  wept  his  own." 
We  cannot  doubt  of  whom  Milton  was  thinking  when  he 
wrote  l^LycidaSy  70-84].  .  .  . 

"Comus,"  the  richest  fruit  of  Milton's  early  genius,  is 
the  epitome  of  the  man  at  the  age  at  which  he  wrote  it. 
It  bespeaks  the  scholar  and  idealist,  whose  sacred  enthusi- 
asm is  in  some  danger  of  contracting  a  taint  of  pedantry 
for  want  of  acquaintance  with  men  and  affairs.  The  Elder 
Brother  is  a  prig,  and  his  dialogues  with  his  junior  reveal 
the  same  solemn  insensibility  to  the  humorous  which  char- 
acterizes the  kindred  genius  of  Wordsworth,  and  would 
have  provoked  the  kindly  smile  of  Shakespeare.  It  is 
singular  to  find  the  inevitable  flaw  of  "  Paradise  Lost " 
prefigured  here,  and  the  wicked  enchanter  made  the  real 
hero  of  the  piece.  These  defects  are  interesting,  because 
they  represent  the  nature  of  Milton  as  it  was  then,  noble 
and  disinterested  to  the  height  of  imagination,  but  self- 
assertive,  unmellowed,  angular.  They  disappear  entirely 
when  he  expatiates  in  the  regions  of  exalted  fancy,  as  in 
the  introductory  discourse  of  the  Spirit,  and  the  invoca- 
tion to  Sabrina.  They  recur  when  he  moralizes  ;  and  his 
morality  is  too  interwoven  with  the  texture  of  his  piece  to 
be  other  than  obtrusive.  He  fatigues  with  virtue,  as  Lucan 
fatigues  with  liberty ;  in  both  instances  the  scarcely  avoid- 
able error  of  a  young  preacher.  What  glorious  morality  it 
is  no  one  need  be  told  ;  nor  is  there  any  poem  in  the 
language  where  beauties  of  thought^  diction,  and  descrip- 
tion spring  up  more  thickly  than  in  "  Comus."  No  drama 
out  of  Shakespeare  has  furnished  such  a  number  of  the 
noblest  familiar  quotations.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  many 
of  these  jewels  are  fetched  from  the  mines  of  other  poets : 
great  as  Milton's  obligations  to  Nature  were,  his  obligations 


INTRODUCTION.  XXVll 

to  books  were  greater.  But  he  has  made  all  his  own 
by  the  alchemy  of  his  genius,  and  borrows  little  but  to 
improve.  .  .  . 

[Brooke,  Milton,  pp.  18-19,  22-24,  26-27.] 

The  Allegro  and  Fenseroso,  the  resemblances  to  which  in 
previous  writers,  as  in  Burton,  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
only  prove  that  Milton  had  read  English  literature,  and 
could  better  what  he  borrowed  if  he  borrowed  it  —  repre- 
sent Nature,  and  Man,  and  Art  as  they  appear  to  a  man 
filled  with  an  imaginative  joy  and  an  imaginative  sadness. 
The  Allegro^  which  begins  with  the  early  morning  and  ends 
at  night,  is  paralleled  thought  by  thought,  scene  by  scene, 
with  the  Fenseroso^  which  begins  with  the  late  evening  and 
ends  towards  the  noon  of  the  next  day.  But  the  Fenseroso 
closes  with  the  wish  —  which,  not  paralleled  in  the  Allegro, 
makes  us  know  that  Milton  preferred  the  pensive  to  the 
mirthful  temper  —  That  he  may  live  on  into  old  age,  the 
contemplative  life, 

"  Till  old  experience  do  attain, 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain." 

Both  poems  are  ushered  in  with  a  stately  introduction, 
and  change  to  a  quicker  and  lighter  measure,  of  which  the 
scheme  appears  to  be  trochaic,  though  iambics  are  often 
introduced  and  especially  in  the  Fenseroso.  The  greatest 
pains  is  bestowed  upon  the  rhythm.  There  is  nothing 
hazarded,  nothing  careless,  yet  the  poems  move,  it  seems, 
with  careless  grace.  They  are  a  landmark  in  the  metrical 
art  of  poetry,  and  they  are  conscious  of  their  art  through- 
out. 

The  words  are  arranged  and  chosen  to  imitate  or  suggest 
the  thing  described :    alliteration  is  used  to  heighten  the 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

effect,  but  much  more  sparingly  than  by  the  earlier  men, 
such  as  his  "original,"  Spenser.^  Throughout  the  Allegro 
the  verse  frequently  rushes  as  if  borne  along  by  very  joy ; 
its  character  is  swiftness  and  smoothness.  Few  if  any 
pauses  occur  in  the  midst  of  the  lines.  Throughout  the 
Penseroso  the  verse  frequently  pauses  in  the  midst  of  the 
lines.  It  rests,  like  a  pensive  man  who,  walking,  stops  to 
think,  and  its  movement  is  slow,  even  stately. 

Both  poems  are  full  of  natural  description.  But  it  is 
neither  the  description  which  imposes  one's  own  feeling  on 
nature,  nor  the  moralising  description  of  Gray,  nor  does 
it  even  resemble  that  description  which  in  Shelley  and 
Wordsworth  was  built  on  the  thought  that  Nature  was  alive 
and  man's  companion.  It  is  the  pure  description  of  things 
seen,  seen  not  necessarily  through  the  poet's  own  mood, 
but  always  in  direct  relation  to  Man  and  to  the  special 
mood  of  man's  mind  which  Milton  has  chosen  as  the  ground- 
work for  each  poem. 

The  allusiveness  of  the  poems  —  and  extreme  allusiveness 
is  a  characteristic  mark,  and  often  a  fault,  of  the  poetry  of 
Milton  —  pleases  by  the  claim  it  makes  on  study.  The 
extreme  simplicity  of  the  two  motives  —  and  Milton,  how- 
ever his  poems  are  involved,  has  always  a  simple  motive  — 
makes  these  poems  simple,  and  this  is  one  reason  why 
children  as  well  as  others  understand  and  have  pleasure  in 
them.  The  picturesqueness  of  the  scenes,  the  clearcut 
and  vivid  outline  of  the  things  described  —  and  this  also  is 
a  constant  excellence  of  Milton,  though  he  sometimes  wil- 
fully spoils  it  by  digression,  —  is  also  a  source  of  delight  to 
young  and  old :  while  the  work  of  the  higher  imagination 
is  felt  as  a  shaping  power  in  the  poems,  as  the  Orphean 

1  "  Milton  has  acknowledged  to  me,"  says  Dryden,  "  that  Spenser 
was  his  original."  —  Brooke. 


INTR  ODUC  TIOJV.  xxix 

music  which  has  harmonized  and  built  them  into  that  unity 
which  is  the  highest  and  last  demand  of  Art. 


...  It  [Comus]  settled  Milton's  rank  as  a  poet  among 
all  men  capable  of  judging.  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  voice 
was,  we  may  be  sure,  the  voice  of  all  men  of  culture  :  —  "A 
dainty  piece  of  entertainment,  wherein  I  should  much  com- 
mend the  tragical  part  if  the  lyrical  did  not  ravish  me 
with  a  certain  Doric  delicacy  in  your  songs  and  odes, 
whereunto  I  must  plainly  confess  to  have  seen  yet  nothing 
parallel  in  our  language."  The  phrase  Doric  delicacy  is 
not  ill-said ;  but  it  is  not  in  the  lyrics,  which  are  excelled 
by  many  of  the  Elizabethan  lyrics,  but  in  the  full-weighted 
dignity  of  the  blank  verse  that  the  poem  was  then  un- 
paralleled. Moreover  it  was  marked  by  a  greater  gran- 
deur of  style  and  thought,  by  a  graver  beauty,  and  by  a 
more  exercised  and  self-conscious  art  than  any  poem  of 
its  character  which  England  had  as  yet  known.  It  be- 
longed to  the  Elizabethan 'spirit,  but  it  went  beyond  it 
and  made  a  new  departure  for  English  poetry.  The  way 
it  showed  could  not  be  walked  in  by  the  men  of  the 
Restoration  and  the  Revolution.  It  was  before  its  time ; 
but  that  is  at  once  the  good  and  the  evil  fortune  of  a  great 
genius. 

Johnson's  sturdy  criticism  on  it  has  much  force  and  is 
admirably  written ;  but  in  condemning  it  as  a  drama,  he  is 
carried  beyond  good  sense  to  lose  sight  of  its  beauty  as  a 
poem.  Moreover  his  arrows  do  not  hit  the  target.  Comus 
is  not  a  regular  drama,  but  a  masque,  and  a  masque  obeys 
laws  distinct  from  those  of  the  regular  drama.  The  masque 
depends  for  success  not  only  on  the  poetry,  which  here  is 
splendid,  but  also  and  chiefly  on  its  occasion,  and  away 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

from  the  occasion  its  dramatic  fitness  cannot  be  judged. 
It  depends  also  on  the  decoration  and  music,  and  these  are 
so  knit  to  the  occasion  that,  even  when  they  are  reproduced, 
they  have  not  the  same  value  as  at  the  time  they  were 
first  made.  No  one  can  judge  how  far  Comus  contradicts 
Johnson's  judgment  of  its  want  of  interest  as  a  dramatic 
representation,  unless  he  can  recreate  in  his  mind  not  only 
the  scene,  and  the  "occasion,"  and  all  its  interests,  but 
also  all  the  feelings  of  the  spectators,  and  the  thought  of 
the  story  in  their  minds  to  which  the  masque  spoke ;  and 
this  was  work  of  which  Johnson  at  least  seems  incapable. 
Comus  was  written  for  such  an  occasion,  and  only  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  moment  can  its  dramatic  merits  be 
judged. 

Still  that  Comus  soars  beyond  the  occasion  is  plain 
enough.  It  displaced  itself  as  a  masque  to  rise  into  a  poem 
to  the  glory  and  victory  of  virtue.  And  its  virtue  lies  in 
the  mastery  of  the  righteous  will  over  sense  and  appetite. 
It  is  a  song  to  Temperance  as  the  ground  of  freedom,  to 
temperance  as  the  guard  of  all  the  virtues,  to  beauty  as 
secured  by  temperance,  and  its  central  point  and  climax  is 
in  the  pleading  of  these  motives  by  the  Lady  against  their 
opposites  in  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  of  sensual  Revel. 

It  is  moreover  raised  above  an  ethical  poem  by  its 
imaginative  form  and  power  ;  and  its  literary  worth  enables 
us  to  consider  it,  if  we  choose,  apart  from  its  dramatic 
form.  Its  imagination,  however,  sinks  at  times,  and  one 
can  scarcely  explain  this  otherwise  than  by  saying  that  the 
Elizabethan  habit  of  fantastic  metaphor  clung  to  Milton 
at  this  time.  When  he  does  fall,  the  fall  is  made  more 
remarkable  by  the  soaring  strength  of  his  loftier  flight  and 
by  the  majesty  of  the  verse.  Nothing  can  be  worse  in 
conception  than  the  comparison  of  night  to  a  thief  who 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxi 

shuts  up,  for  the  sake  of  his  felony,  the  stars  whose  lamps 
burn  everlasting  oil,  in  his  dark  lantern.  The  better  it  is 
carried  out  and  the  finer  the  verse,  the  worse  it  is.  And 
yet  it  is  instantly  followed  by  the  great  passage  about  the 
fears  of  night,  the  fantasies  and  airy  tongues  that  syllable 
men's  names,  and  by  the  glorious  appeal  to  conscience, 
faith,  and  God,  followed  in  its  turn  by  the  fantastic  conceit 
of  the  cloud  that  turns  out  its  silver  lining  on  the  night. 
This  is  Elizabethan  weakness  and  strength,  the  mixture 
of  gold  and  clay,  the  want  of  that  art-sensitiveness  which 
feels  the  absurd :  and  Milton,  even  in  Paradise  Lost^  when 
he  had  got  further  from  his  originals,  falls  into  it  not 
unfrequently.  It  is  a  fault  which  runs  through  a  good  deal 
of  his  earlier  work,  it  is  more  seen  in  Comus  than  elsewhere  ; 
but  it  was  the  fault  of  that  poetic  age. 


It  \^Lycidas']  is  pastoral,  and  in  the  form  of  other 
pastorals;  with  its  introduction  and  its  epilogue,  and 
between  them  the  monody  of  the  shepherd  who  has  lost 
his  friend.  Under  the  guise  of  one  shepherd  mourning 
another,  all  Milton's  relations  with  Edward  King  are 
expressed,  and  all  his  thoughts  about  his  character  and 
genius ;  and  the  poem,  to  be  justly  judged,  must  be  read 
with  the  conditions  of  the  pastoral  as  a  form  of  verse  pres- 
ent to  the  mind.  That  is  enough  to  dispose  of  Johnson's 
unfavourable  criticism,  which  quarrels  with  the  poem  for 
its  want  of  passion  and  want  of  nature,  and  for  its  improb- 
ability. It  is  not  a  poem  of  passionate  sorrow,  but  of  admi- 
ration and  regret  expressed  with  careful  art  and  in  a  special 
artistic  form ;  and  the  classical  allusions  and  shepherd 
images  and  the  rest  are  the  necessary  drapery  of  the 
pastoral,  the  art  of  which,  and  the  due  keeping  to  form  in 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION, 

which,  are  as  important  to  Milton,  and  perhaps  more  so, 
than  his  regret.  We  are  made  aware  of  this  when  we  find 
Milton  twice  checking  himself  in  the  conduct  of  the  poem 
for  having  gone  beyond  the  limits  of  the  pastoral. 

The  metrical  structure,  which  is  partly  borrowed  from 
Italian  models,  is  as  carefully  wrought  as  the  rest,  and 
harmonized  to  the  thoughts.  "Milton's  ear  was  a  good 
second  to  his  imagination."  Lycidas  appeals  not  only  to 
the  imagination,  but  to  the  educated  imagination.  There 
is  no  ebb  and  flow  of  poetical  power  as  in  Comus ;  it  is  an 
advance  on  all  his  previous  work,  and  it  fitly  closes  the 
poetic  labour  of  his  youth.  It  is  needless  to  analyse  it, 
and  all  criticism  is  weaker  than  the  poem  itself.  Yet  we 
may  say  that  one  of  its  strange  charms  is  its  solemn  under- 
tone rising  like  a  religious  chaunt  through  the  elegiac 
musick ;  the  sense  of  a  stern  national  crisis  in  the  midst 
of  its  pastoral  mourning  ;  the  sense  of  Milton's  grave  force 
of  character  among  the  flowers  and  fancies  of  the  poem ; 
the  sense  of  the  Christian  religion  pervading  the  classical 
imagery.  We  might  say  that  these  things  are  ill-fitted  to 
each  other.  So  they  would  be,  were  not  the  art  so  fine  and 
the  poetry  so  over-mastering ;  were  they  not  fused  together 
by  genius  into  a  whole  so  that  the  unfitness  itself  becomes 
fascination.^ 

[Saintsbury,  Elizabethan  Literature,  pp.  319-322.] 

This  body  of  work,  then,  is  marked  by  two  qualities : 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  poetic  merit,  and  a  still  more 
extraordinary  originality  of  poetic  kind.  Although  Milton 
is  always  Milton,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  another 

1  See  also  pp.  27-29,  where  Brooke  gives  his  observations  on  the 
political  and  social  aspects  of  Milton's  early  poetry. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxiil 

writer  five  poems,  or  (taking  the  Allegro  and  its  companion 
together)  four,  so  different  from  each  other  and  yet  of  such 
high  merit.  And  it  would  be  still  more  difficult  to  find 
poems  so  independent  in  their  excellence.  Neither  the 
influence  of  Johnson  nor  the  influence  of  Donne  —  the 
two  poetical  influences  in  the  air  at  the  time,  and  the  lat- 
ter especially  strong  at  Cambridge  —  produced  even  the 
faintest  effect  on  Milton.  We  know  from  his  own  words, 
and  should  have  known  even  if  he  had  not  mentioned  it, 
that  Shakespere  and  Spenser  were  his  favourite  studies  in 
English ;  yet,  save  in  mere  scattered  phrases,  none  of  these 
poems  owes  anything  to  either.  He  has  teachers  but  no 
models  ;  masters,  but  only  in  the  way  of  learning  how  to  do, 
not  what  to  do.  The  *<  certain  vital  marks,"  of  which  he 
somewhat  arrogantly  speaks,  are  indeed  there.  ...  As 
for  B Allegro  and  //  Fenseroso,  who  shall  praise  them  fitly  1 
They  are  among  the  few  things  about  which  there  is  no 
difference  of  opinion,  which  are  as  delightful  to  child- 
hood as  to  criticism,  to  youth  as  to  age.  To  dwell  on 
their  technical  excellences  (the  chief  of  which  is  the  unerr- 
ing precision  with  which  the  catalectic  and  acatalectic 
lines  are  arranged  and  interchanged)  has  a  certain  air  of 
impertinence  about  it.  Even  a  critical  King  Alfonso  El 
Sabio  could  hardly  think  it  possible  that  Milton  might 
have  taken  a  hint  here,  although  some  persons  have,  it 
seems,  been  disturbed  because  skylarks  do  not  come  to 
the  window,  just  as  others  are  troubled  because  the  flowers 
in  Lycidas  do  not  grow  at  the  same  time,  and  because  they 
think  they  could  see  stars  through  the  ''starproof  "  trees 
of  Arcades. 

.  .  .  But  it  is  in  Cotnus  that,  if  I  have  any  skill  of  criti- 
cism, Milton's  poetical  power  is  at  its  greatest  height. 
Those  who  judge  poetry  on  the  ground  of  bulk,  or  of  origi- 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

nality  of  theme,  or  of  anything  else  extra-poetical,  —  much 
more  those  (the  greater  number)  who  simply  vary  trans- 
mitted ideas,  —  may  be  scandalized  at  this  assertion,  but 
that  will  hardly  matter  much.  And  indeed  the  indebtedness 
of  Comus  in  point  of  subject  (it  is  probably  limited  to  the 
Odyssey,  which  is  public  property,  and  to  George  Peek's 
Old  Wives'*  Tale,  which  gave  little  but  a  few  hints  of  story) 
is  scarcely  greater  than  that  of  Paradise  Lost ;  while  the 
form  of  the  drama,  a  kind  nearly  as  venerable  and  majestic 
as  that  of  the  epic,  is  completely  filled.  And  in  Comus 
there  is  none  of  the  stiffness,  none  of  the  longueurs,  none 
of  the  almost  ludicrous  want  of  humour,  which  mar  the 
larger  poem.  Humour  indeed  was  what  Milton  always 
lacked ;  had  he  had  it,  Shakespere  himself  might  hardly 
have  been  greater.  The  plan  is  not  really  more  artificial 
than  that  of  the  epic ;  though  in  the  latter  case  it  is  masked 
to  us  by  the  scale,  by  the  grandeur  of  the  personages,  and 
by  the  familiarity  of  the  images  to  all  men  who  have  been 
brought  up  on  the  Bible.  The  versification,  as  even  Johnson 
saw,  is  the  versification  of  Paradise  Lost,  and  to  my  fancy 
at  any  rate  it  has  a  spring,  a  variety,  a  sweep  and  rush 
of  genius,  which  are  but  rarely  present  later.  As  for  its 
beauty  in  parts,  quis  vituperavit  ?  It  is  impossible  to 
single  out  passages,  for  the  whole  is  golden.  The  enter- 
ing address  of  Comus,  the  song  "  Sweet  Echo,"  the  descrip- 
tive speech  of  the  Spirit,  and  the  magnificent  eulogy  of  the 
**  sun-clad  power  of  chastity,"  would  be  the  most  beautiful 
things  where  all  is  beautiful,  if  the  unapproachable  "  Sabrina 
fair  "  did  not  come  later,  and  were  not  sustained  before  and 
after,  for  nearly  two  hundred  lines  of  pure  nectar.  If 
poetry  could  be  taught  by  the  reading  of  it,  then  indeed 
the  critic's  advice  to  a  poet  might  be  limited  to  this  : 
"Give  your  days  and  nights  to  the  reading  of  Comus. ^^ 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxv 

[William  Hazlitt,  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets,  Appendix,  p.  201  etseq^l 

Of  all  Milton's  smaller  poems,  Lycidas  is  the  greatest 
favourite  with  me.  I  cannot  agree  to  the  charge  which 
Dr.  Johnson  has  brought  against  it  of  pedantry  and  want 
of  feeling.  It  is  the  fine  emanation  of  classical  sentiment 
in  a  youthful  scholar  —  'most  musical,  most  melancholy.' 
A  certain  tender  gloom  overspreads  it,  a  wayward  abstrac- 
tion, a  forgetfulness  of  his  subject  in  the  serious  reflections 
that  arise  out  of  it.  The  gusts  of  passion  come  and  go  like 
the  sounds  of  music  borne  on  the  wind.  The  loss  of  the 
friend  whose  death  he  laments  seems  to  have  recalled,  with 
double  force,  the  reality  of  those  speculations  which  they 
had  indulged  together  ;  we  are  transported  to  classic  ground, 
and  a  mysterious  strain  steals  responsive  on  the  ear,  while 
we  listen  to  the  poet, 

*  With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay.' 

I  shall  proceed  to  give  a  few  passages  at  length  in  support 
of  my  opinion.  The  first  I  shall  quote  is  as  remarkable 
for  the  truth  and  sweetness  of  the  natural  descriptions  as 
for  the  characteristic  elegance  of  the  allusions.  [Lines 
25-49  quoted.] 

After  the  fine  apostrophe  on  Fame  which  Phoebus  is  in- 
volved to  utter,  the  poet  proceeds:  [Lines  85-99  quoted.] 
If  this  is  art,  it  is  perfect  art  ;  nor  do  we  wish  for 
anything  better.  The  measure  of  the  verse,  the  very 
sound  of  the  names,  would  almost  produce  the  effect  here 
described.  To  ask  the  poet  not  to  make  use  of  such 
allusions  as  these  is  to  ask  the  painter  not  to  dip  in  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  if  he  could.  —  In  fact,  it  is  the  com- 
mon cant  of  criticism  to  consider  every  allusion  to  the  clas- 

1  New  York,  1845.     Wiley  and  Putnam. 


XXX  VI  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

sics,  and  particularly  in  a  mind  like  Milton's,  as  pedantry 
and  affectation.  Habit  is  a  second  nature ;  and,  in  this 
sense,  the  pedantry  (if  it  is  to  be  so  called)  of  the  scholastic 
enthusiast,  who  is  constantly  referring  to  images  of  which 
his  mind  is  full,  is  as  graceful  as  it  is  natural.  It  is  not 
affectation  in  him  to  recur  to  ideas  and  modes  of  expres- 
sion with  which  he  has  the  strongest  associations,  and  in 
which  he  takes  the  greatest  delight.  Milton  was  as  conver- 
sant with  the  world  of  genius  before  him  as  with  the  world 
of  nature  about  him  ;  the  fables  of  the  ancient  mythology 
were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his  dreams.  To  be  a  pedant  is 
to  see  neither  the  beauties  of  nature  nor  of  art.  Milton  saw 
both  ;  and  he  made  use  of  the  one  only  to  adorn  and  give 
interest  to  the  other.  He  was  a  passionate  admirer  of 
nature ;  and,   in   a   single   couplet   of  his,   describing  the 

moon,  — 

'  Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way,'  — 

there  is  more  intense  observation,  and  intense  feeling  of 
nature  (as  if  he  had  gazed  himself  blind  in  looking  at 
her,)  than  in  twenty  volumes  of  descriptive  poetry.  But 
he  added  in  his  own  observation  of  nature  the  splendid 
fictions  of  ancient  genius,  enshrined  her  in  the  mysteries 
of  ancient  religion,  and  celebrated  her  with  the  pomp  of 
ancient  names.^ 

[Dowden,  Transcripts  and  Studies^  pp.  460-465,  473.] 

.  .  .  Milton,  as  an  artist,  works  in  the  manner  of  an 
idealist.  His  starting-point  is  ordinarily  an  abstraction. 
Whereas  with  Bunyan  abstract  virtues  and  vices  are  per- 

1  Hazlitt  continues  with  a  rather  fanciful  defense  of  Milton's  com- 
bination of  heathen  and  Christian  elements. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxvii 

petually  tending  to  become  real  persons,  with  Milton  each 
real  person  tends  to  become  the  representative  of  an  idea 
or  a  group,  more  or  less  complex,  of  ideas.  .  .  . 

Comus  is  the  work  of  a  youthful  spirit,  enamoured  of 
its  ideals  of  beauty  and  of  virtue,  zealous  to  exhibit  the 
identity  of  moral  loveliness  with  moral  severity.  The  real 
incident  from  which  the  mask  is  said  to  have  originated 
disengages  itself,  in  the  imagination  of  Milton,  from  the 
world  of  actual  occurrences,  and  becomes  an  occasion  for 
the  dramatic  display  of  his  own  poetical  abstractions. 
The  young  English  gentlemen  cast  off  their  identity  and 
individuality,  and  appear  in  the  elementary  shapes  of 
"First  Brother"  and  "Second  Brother."  The  Lady  Alice 
rises  into  an  ideal  impersonation  of  virgin  strength  and 
virtue.  The  scene  is  earth,  a  wild  wood  ;  but  earth,  as  in 
all  the  poems  of  Milton,  with  the  heavens  arching  over  it  — 
.a  dim  spot,  in  which  men  "  strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and 
feverish  being  "  set  below  the  "  starry  threshold  of  Jove's 
Court," 

"  Where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  live  inspher'd 
In  regions  mild  of  calm  and  serene  air." 

From  its  first  scene  to  the  last  the  drama  is  a  represen- 
tation of  the  trials,  difficulties,  and  dangers  to  which  moral 
purity  is  exposed  in  this  world,  and  of  the  victory  of  the 
better  principle  in  the  soul,  gained  by  strenuous  human 
endeavour  aided  by  the  grace  of  God.  In  this  spiritual 
warfare  the  powers  of  good  and  evil  are  arrayed  against 
one  another ;  upon  this  side  the  Lady,  her  brothers  (types 
of  human  helpfulness  weak  in  itself,  and  liable  to  go  astray), 
and  the  supernatural  powers  auxiliar  to  virtue  in  heaven  and 
in  earth  —  the  Attendant  Spirit  and  the  nymph  Sabrina. 


xxxvill  INTRODUCTION. 

The  enchanter  Comus  is  son  of  Bacchus  and  Circe,  and 
inheritor  of  twofold  vice.  If  Milton  had  pictured  the  life 
of  innocent  mirth  in  V Allegro^  here  was  a  picture  to  set 
beside  the  other,  a  vision  of  the  genius  of  sensual  indul- 
gence. Yet  Comus  is  inwardly,  not  outwardly  foul ;  no  grim 
monster  like  that  which  the  medieval  imagination  conjured 
up  to  terrify  the  spirit  and  disgust  the  senses.  The  attempt 
of  sin  upon  the  soul  as  conceived  by  Milton  is  not  the 
open  and  violent  obsession  of  a  brute  power,  but  involves  a 
cheat,  an  imposture.  The  soul  is  put  upon  its  trial  through 
the  seduction  of  the  senses  and  the  lower  parts  of  our 
nature.  Flattering  lies  entice  the  ears  of  Eve;  Christ  is 
tried  by  false  visions  of  power  and  glory,  and  beneficent 
rule ;  Samson  is  defrauded  of  his  strength  by  deceitful 
blandishment.  And  in  like  manner  Comus  must  needs 
possess  a  beauty  of  his  own,  such  beauty  as  ensnares  the 
eye  untrained  in  the  severe  school  of  moral  perfection. 
Correggio  sought  him  as  a  favourite  model,  but  not  Michael 
Angelo.  He  is  sensitive  to  rich  forms  and  sweet  sounds, 
graceful  in  oratory,  possessed,  like  Satan,  of  high  intellect, 
but  intellect  in  the  service  of  the  senses ;  he  surrounds 
himself  with  a  world  of  art  which  lulls  the  soul  into  forget- 
fulness  of  its  higher  instincts  and  of  duty ;  his  palace  is 
stately,  and  **  set  out  with  all  manner  of  deliciousness." 

Over  against  this  potent  enchanter  stands  the  original 
figure  of  the  Lady,  who  is  stronger  than  he.  Young  men, 
themselves  conscious  of  high  powers,  and  who  are  more 
truly  acquainted  with  admiration  than  with  love,  find  the 
presence  of  strength  in  woman  invincibly  attractive. 
Shakspere,  in  his  earlier  dramatic  period,  delighted  to 
represent  such  characters  as  Rosalind,  and  Beatrice,  and 
Portia ;  characters  at  once  stronger  and  weaker  than  his 
Imogens  and  Desdemonas,  —  stronger  because  more  intel- 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

lectual,  weaker  because  less  harmoniously  feminine.  Shelley, 
who  was  never  other  than  young,  exhibited  different  types 
of  heroic  womanly  nature,  as  conceived  by  him,  in  Cythna 
of  The  Revolt  of  Islam,  and  in  Beatrice  Cenci.  Something 
of  weakness  belongs  to  the  Lady  of  Milton's  poem,  because 
she  is  a  woman,  accustomed  to  the  protection  of  others, 
tenderly  nurtured,  with  a  fair  and  gentle  body ;  but  when 
the  hour  of  trial  comes  she  shows  herself  strong  in  powers 
of  judgment  and  of  reasoning,  strong  in  her  spiritual 
nature,  in  her  tenacity  of  moral  truth,  in  her  indignation 
against  sin.  Although  alone,  and  encompassed  by  evil  and 
danger,  she  is  fearless,  and  so  clear-sighted  that  the  juggling 
practice  of  her  antagonist  is  wholly  ineffectual  against  her. 
There  is  much  in  the  Lady  which  resembles  the  youthful 
Milton  himself  —  he,  the  Lady  of  his  college  —  and  we  may 
well  believe  that  the  great  debate  concerning  temperance 
was  not  altogether  dramatic  (where,  indeed,  is  Milton  truly 
dramatic  ?),  but  was  in  part  a  record  of  passages  in  the 
poet's  own  spiritual  history.  Milton  admired  the  Lady  as 
he  admired  the  ideal  which  he  projected  before  him  of 
himself.  She  is,  indeed,  too  admirable  to  be  an  object  of 
cherishing  love.  We  could  almost  prolong  her  sufferings 
to  draw  a  more  complete  enthusiasm  from  the  sight  of  her 
heroic  attitude. 

The  Lady  is  unsubdued,  and  indeed  unsubduable,  because 
her  will  remains  her  own,  a  citadel  without  a  breach ;  but 
"  her  corporeal  rind "  is  manacled,  she  is  set  in  the 
enchanted  chair  and  canliot  leave  it.  .  .  .  Meanwhile 
.  .  .  the  brothers  wander  in  the  wood.  They  are  alike 
in  being  aimless  and  helpless ;  if  they  are  distinguished 
from  each  other,  it  is  only  as  "First  Brother  "  and  "Second 
Brother,"  and  by  one  of  the  simple  devices  common  to  ideal 
artists  —  first  brother  is   a   philosopher   and  full  of  hope 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

and  faith  ;  second  brother  is  more  apprehensive,  and  less 
thoroughly  grounded  in  ethics  and  metaphysics.  The 
deliverance  of  their  sister  would  be  impossible  but  for 
supernatural  interposition,  the  aid  afforded  by  the  Attendant 
Spirit  from  Jove's  court.  In  other  words.  Divine  Provi- 
dence is  asserted.  Not  without  higher  than  human  aid  is 
the  Lady  rescued,  and  through  the  weakness  of  the  mortal 
instruments  of  divine  grace  but  half  the  intended  work  is 
accomplished.  Comus  escapes  bearing  his  magic  wand,  to 
deceive  other  strayers  in  the  wood,  to  work  new  enchant- 
ments, and  swell  his  rout  of  ugly-headed  followers. 

tt  tT  nv  TV  tT 

...  A  line  will  recapitulate  the  substance  of  this  essay. 
Milton  works  from  the  starting-point  of  an  idea,  and  two 
such  ideas  brought  into  being  what  he  accomplished  as 
a  man  and  as  an  artist.  His  prose  works,  the  outcome 
of  his  life  of  public  action,  have  for  their  ideal  centre  a 
conception  of  human  liberty.  His  poetical  works,  the  out- 
come of  his  inner  life,  his  life  of  artistic  contemplation, 
are  various  renderings  of  one  dominant  idea  —  that  the 
struggle  for  mastery  between  good  and  evil  is  the  prime 
fact  of  life  ;  and  that  a  final  victory  of  the  righteous  cause 
is  assured  by  the  existence  of  a  divine  order  of  the 
universe,  which  Milton  knew  by  the  name  of  "  Providence." 

[J.  C.  Shairp';  On  Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature,  pp.  186-190.1] 

When  we  pass  from  the  images  of  Nature  that  abound 
in    Chaucer   and   in   Shakespeare  to   those  which  Milton 

1  For  a  bibliography  of  Literature  on  the  Nature-Sense,  see  Camillo 
Von  Klenze's  article  in  the  Journal  of  Germattic  Philology,  vol.  ii. 
pp.  239-265;  also,  The  Critic,  vol.  xxviii.  (new  series)  pp.  47,  118.  On 
Milton's  treatment  of  nature,  see  Mr.  Squires's  article  in  the  Mod.  Lang. 


INTRODUCTION.  xli 

furnishes,  the  transition  is  much  the  same  as  when  we 
pass  from  the  scenery  of  Homer  to  that  of  Virgil.  The 
contrast  is  that  between  natural  free-flowing  poetry,  in 
which  the  beauty  is  child-like  and  unconscious,  and  highly 
cultured  artistic  poetry,  which  produces  its  effects  through 
a  medium  of  learned  illustration,  ornate  coloring,  and 
stately  diction.  In  the  one  case  Nature  is  seen  directly 
and  at  first  hand,  with  nothing  between  the  poet  and  the 
object  except  the  imaginative  emotion  under  which  he 
works.  In  the  other,  Nature  is  apprehended  only  in  her 
*  second  intention,'  as  logicians  speak,  only  as  she  appears 
through  a  beautiful  haze,  compounded  of  learning,  associa- 
tions of  the  past,  and  carefully  selected  artistic  colors. 
With  Milton,  Nature  was  not  his  first  love,  but  held  only 
a  secondary  place  in  his  affections.  He  was  in  the  first 
place  a  scholar,  a  man  of  letters,  with  the  theologian  and 
polemic  latent  in  him.  A  lover  of  all  artistic  beauty  he 
was,  no  doubt,  and  of  Nature  mainly  as  it  lends  itself  to 
this  perception.  And  as  is  his  mode  of  apprehending 
Nature,  such  is  the  language  in  which  he  describes  her. 
When  he  reached  his  full  maturity  he  had  framed  for  him- 
self out  of  the  richness  of  his  genius  and  the  resources  of 
his  learning  a  style  elaborate  and  splendid,  so  that  he 
stands  unique  among  English  poets,  *  our  one  first-rate 
master  in  the  grand  style.'  As  an  eminent  living  French 
writer  says,  —  *  For  rendering  things  he  has  the  unique 
word,  the  word  which  is  a  discovery,'  and  *  he  has  not 
only  the  image  and  the  word,  he  has  the  period  also,  the 
large  musical  phrase,  somewhat  laden  with  ornaments  and 
intricate  with  inversions,  but  bearing  all  along  with  it  in 

Notesy  vol.  ix.  pp.  227-237,  where  Mr.  Squires  comes  to  the  conclusion 
that  Milton  in  the  main  looked  at  nature  "  through  the  spectacles  of 
books." 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

its  superb  undulation.  Above  all,  he  has  something  inde- 
scribably serene  and  victorious,  an  unfailing  level  of  style» 
power  indomitable.'  This  admirable  description  of  M. 
Scherer  applies  mainly  to  Milton's  style,  as  it  was  fully 
elaborated  in  his  great  epic.  And  the  thought  has  some- 
times occurred,  whether  this  magnificently  elaborated  style 
can  be  a  fit  vehicle  for  rendering  truly  the  simplicity,  the 
refreshingness  of  Nature,  — whether  the  poet's  art,  from  its 
very  opulence,  must  not  color  too  much  the  clearness  and 
transparency  of  the  external  world.  However  this  may  be, 
it  is  certain  that  it  is  not  to  his  maturer  poems,  with  their 
grandeur  of  style,  that  we  look  for  his  most  vivid  render- 
ings of  scenery,  but  to  those  early  poems,  which  had  more 
native  grace  of  diction  and  less  of  artistic  elaboration. 
Nowhere  has  Milton  shown  such  an  eye  for  scenery  as  in 
those  first  poems,  *L' Allegro,'  *I1  Penseroso,'  *Lycidas,' 
and  'Comus,'  composed  before  he  was  thirty,  just  after 
leaving  Cambridge,  while  he  was  living  under  his  father's 
roof  at  Horton,  in  Buckinghamshire.  During  the  five 
years  of  country  life,  the  most  genial  of  all  his  years,  amid 
his  incessant  study  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and  other 
self-improvement,  his  heart  was  perhaps  more  open  than 
at  any  other  time  to  the  moral  beauty  which  lay  around 
him.  *  Comus  '  and  *  Lycidas  '  both  contain  fine  natural 
imagery,  yet  somewhat  deflected  by  the  artistic  framework 
in  which  it  is  set.  In  the  latter  poem,  in  which  Milton, 
adopting  the  idyllic  form  of  Virgil,  fills  it  with  a  mightier 
power,  classical  allusion  and  mythology  are  strangely,  yet 
not  unharmoniously,  blended  with  pictures  taken  from 
English  landscape.  Every  one  remembers  the  splendid 
grouping  of  flowers  which  he  there  broiders  in.  Of  this 
catalogue  it  has  been  observed  that,  beautiful  as  it  is,  it 
violates  the  truth  of  nature,  as  it  places  side  by  side  flowers 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

of  different  seasons  which  are  never  seen  flowering  together. 
It  is  in  his  two  '  descriptive  Lyrics '  that  we  find  the  clear- 
est proofs  of  an  eye  that  had  observed  Nature  at  first  hand 
and  for  itself.  In  the  poem  descriptive  of  mirth,  it  has 
been  observed  that  the  mirth  is  of  a  very  sedate  kind,  not 
reaching  beyond  a  'trim  and  stately  cheerfulness.'  The 
mythological  pedigrees  attached  both  to  mirth  and  to  melan- 
choly strike  us  now  as  somewhat  strange,  if  not  frigid  ;  but, 
with  this  allowance,  Milton's  richly  sensuous  imagination 
bodies  forth  the  cheerfulness,  as  he  wished  to  portray  it, 
in  a  succession  of  images  unsurpassed  for  beauty.  In  the 
lines  descriptive  of  these  images,  Art  and  Nature  appear 
perhaps  more  than  in  any  other  of  Milton's  poems  in  perfect 
equipoise.  The  images  selected  are  the  aptest  vehicles  of 
the  sentiment ;  the  language  in  which  they  are  expressed 
is  of  the  most  graceful  and  musical  ;  while  the  natural 
objects  themselves  are  seen  at  first  hand,  set  down  with 
their  edges  still  sharp,  and  uncolored  by  any  tinge  of 
bookish  allusion.  Aspects  of  English  scenery,  one  after 
another,  occur,  which  he  was  the  first  poet  to  note,  and 
which  none  since  could  dare  to  touch,  so  entirely  has  he 
made  them  his  own.  The  mower  whetting  his  scythe,  — 
who  ever  hears  that  sound  coming  from  the  lawn  in  the 
morning  without  thinking  of  Milton  ?  *  The  tanned  hay- 
cock in  the  mead  ; '  the  cottage  chimney  smoking  betwixt 
two  aged  oaks  ;  the  moon 

'  As  if  her  head  she  bowed, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud  ; ' 

the  shower  pattering 

'  On  the  ruffling  leaves, 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves  ; ' 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

the  great  curfew-bell  heard  swinging  <over  some  wide 
watered  shore  ; ' — these  are  all  images  taken  straight  from 
English  landscape  which  Milton  has  forever  enshrined  in 
his  two  matchless  poems. 

Of  these  two  poems,  describing  the  bright  and  the 
thoughtful  aspects  of  Nature,  my  friend  Mr.  Palgrave,^ 
in  his  exquisite  collection  of  English  Lyrics,  <  The  Golden 
Treasury,'  has  observed  that  these  are  the  earliest  pure 
descriptive  lyrics  in  our  language,  adding  that  it  is  a  strik- 
ing proof  of  Milton's  astonishing  power  that  these  are  still 
the  best,  in  a  style  which  so  many  great  poets  have  since 
his  time  attempted. 

[Walter  Bagehot,  Literary  Studies,  vol.  ii.  pp.  201-204.] 

If  from  the  man  we  turn  to  his  works,  we  are  struck 
at  once  with  two  singular  contrasts.  The  first  of  them  is 
this.  The  distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  art  is 
sometimes  said,  and  perhaps  truly,  to  consist  in  the  simple 
bareness  of  the  imaginative  conceptions  which  we  find  in 
ancient  art,  and  the  comparative  complex  clothing  in  which 
all  modern  creations  are  embodied.  If  we  adopt  this  dis- 
tinction, Milton  seems  in  some  sort  ancient,  and  in  some 

1  Mr.  Palgrave's  most  recent  criticism  of  these  poems  is  to  be  found 
in  his  Landscape  in  Poetry,  pp.  1 58-1 59.  He  there  says  that  "  V Allegro 
and  //  Penseroso,  the  earliest  great  lyrics  of  the  landscape  in  our  lan- 
guage, despite  all  later  competition  still  remain  supreme  for  range, 
variety,  lucidity,  and  melodious  charm  within  their  style.  And  this 
style  is  essentially  that  of  the  Greek  and  the  earlier  English  poets,  but 
enlarged  to  the  conception  of  whole  scenes  from  Nature  ;  occasionally 
even  panoramic.  External  images  are  set  simply  and  impersonally 
before  us,  although  selected  and  united  in  sentiment  accordantly  with 
the  gay  or  the  meditative  mood  of  the  supposed  spectator."  As  to 
whether  the  poems  may  be  called  "  pure  descriptive  lyrics,"  see  Gummere, 
Handbook  of  Poetics,  p.  48. 


INTRODUCTION,  xlv 

sort  modern.  Nothing  is  so  simple  as  the  subject-matter  of 
his  works.  The  two  greatest  of  his  creations,  the  character 
of  Satan  and  the  character  of  Eve,  are  two  of  the  simplest 
—  the  latter  probably  the  very  simplest  —  in  the  whole 
field  of  literature.  On  this  side  Milton's  art  is  classical. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  no  writer  is  the  imagery  more  pro- 
fuse, the  illustrations  more  various,  the  dress  altogether 
more  splendid.  And  in  this  respect  the  style  of  his  art 
seems  romantic  and  modern.  In  real  truth,  however,  it  is 
only  ancient  art  in  a  modern  disguise.  The  dress  is  a 
mere  dress,  and  can  be  stripped  off  when  we  will.  We  all 
of  us  do  perhaps  in  memory  strip  it  off  ourselves.  Not- 
withstanding the  lavish  adornments  with  which  her  image 
is  presented,  the  character  of  Eve  is  still  the  simplest  sort 
of  feminine  essence  —  the  pure  embodiment  of  that  inner 
nature,  which  we  believe  and  hope  that  women  have. 
The  character  of  Satan,  though  it  is  not  so  easily  de- 
scribed, has  nearly  as  few  elements  in  it.  The  most  purely 
modern  conceptions  will  not  bear  to  be  unclothed  in  this 
matter.  Their  romantic  garment  clings  inseparably  to 
them.  Hamlet  and  Lear  are  not  to  be  thought  of  except 
as  complex  characters,  with  very  involved  and  complicated 
embodiments.  They  are  as  difficult  to  draw  out  in  words 
as  the  common  characters  of  life  are ;  that  of  Hamlet, 
perhaps,  is  more  so.  If  we  make  it,  as  perhaps  we  should, 
the  characteristic  of  modern  and  romantic  art  that  it  pre- 
sents us  with  creations  which  we  cannot  think  of  or  deline- 
ate except  as  very  varied,  and,  so  to  say,  circumstantial,  we 
must  not  rank  Milton  among  the  masters  of  romantic  art. 
And  without  involving  the  subject  in  the  troubled  sea  of 
an  old  controversy,  we  may  say  that  the  most  striking  of 
the  poetical  peculiarities  of  Milton  is  the  bare  simplicity 
of  his  ideas,  and  the  rich  abundance  of  his  illustrations. 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Another  of  his  peculiarities  is  equally  striking.  There 
seems  to  be  such  a  thing  as  second-hand  poetry.  Some 
poets,  musing  on  the  poetry  of  other  men,  have  uncon- 
sciously shaped  it  into  something  of  their  own  :  the  new 
conception  is  like  the  original,  it  would  never  probably 
have  existed  had  not  the  original  existed  previously  ;  still 
it  is  sufficiently  different  from  the  original  to  be  a  new 
thing,  not  a  copy  or  a  plagiarism  ;  it  is  a  creation, 
though,  so  to  say,  a  suggested  creation.  Gray  is  as  good 
an  example  as  can  be  found  of  a  poet  whose  works  abound 
in  this  species  of  semi-original  conceptions.  Industri- 
ous critics  track  his  best  lines  back,  and  find  others  like 
them  which  doubtless  lingered  near  his  fancy  while  he  was 
writing  them.  The  same  critics  have  been  equally  busy 
with  the  works  of  Milton,  and  equally  successful.  They 
iind  traces  of  his  reading  in  half  his  works  ;  not,  which 
any  reader  could  do,  in  overt  similes  and  distinct  illustra- 
tions, but  also  in  the  very  texture  of  the  thought  and  the 
expression.  In  many  cases,  doubtless,  they  discover  more 
than  he  himself  knew.  A  mind  like  his,  which  has  an 
immense  store  of  imaginative  recollections,  can  never 
know  which  of  his  own  imaginations  is  exactly  suggested 
by  which  recollection.  Men  awake  with  their  best  ideas  ; 
it  is  seldom  worth  while  to  investigate  very  curiously 
whence  they  came.  '  Our  proper  business  is  to  adapt,  and 
mould,  and  act  upon  them.  Of  poets  perhaps  this  is  true 
even  more  remarkably  than  of  other  men  ;  their  ideas  are 
suggested  in  modes,  and  according  to  laws,  which  are  even 
more  impossible  to  specify  than  the  ideas  of  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Second-hand  poetry,  so  to  say,  often  seems  quite 
original  to  the  poet  himself  ;  he  frequently  does  not  know 
that  he  derived  it  from  an  old  memory ;  years  afterwards  it 
may  strike  him  as  it  does  others.     Still,  in  general,  such 


INTRODUCTION.  xlvii 

inferior  species  of  creation  is  not  so  likely  to  be  found  in 
minds  of  singular  originality  as  in  those  of  less.  A  brood- 
ing, placid,  cultivated  mind,  like  that  of  Gray,  is  the  place 
where  we  should  expect  to  meet  with  it.  Great  originality 
disturbs  the  adaptive  process,  removes  the  mind  of  the 
poet  from  the  thoughts  of  other  men,  and  occupies  it 
with  its  own  heated  and  flashing  thoughts.  Poetry  of  the 
second  degree  is  like  the  secondary  rocks  of  modern  geol- 
ogy —  a  still,  gentle,  alluvial  formation ;  the  igneous  glow 
of  primary  genius  brings  forth  ideas  like  the  primeval 
granite,  simple,  astounding,  and  alone.  Milton's  case  is 
an  exception  to  this  rule.  His  mind  has  marked  origi- 
nality, probably  as  much  of  it  as  any  in  literature ;  but  it 
has  as  much  of  moulded  recollection  as  any  mind  too. 
His  poetry  in  consequence  is  like  an  artificial  park,  green, 
and  soft,  and  beautiful,  yet  with  outlines  bold,  distinct,  and 
firm,  and  the  eternal  rock  ever  jutting  out ;  or,  better  still, 
it  is  like  our  own  Lake  scenery,  where  Nature  has  herself 
the  same  combination  —  where  we  have  Rydal  Water  side 
by  side  with  the  everlasting  upheaved  mountain.  Milton 
has  the  same  union  of  softened  beauty  with  unimpaired 
grandeur  ;  and  it  is  his  peculiarity. 

These  are  the  two  contrasts  which  puzzle  us  at  first  in 
Milton,  and  which  distinguish  him  from  other  poets  of 
our  remembrance  afterwards.  We  have  a  superficial  com- 
plexity in  illustration,  and  imagery,  and  metaphor ;  and 
in  contrast  with  it  we  observe  a  latent  simplicity  of  idea, 
an  almost  rude  strength  of  conception.  The  underlying 
thoughts  are  few,  though  the  flowers  on  the  surface  are  so 
many.  We  have  likewise  the  perpetual  contrast  of  the  soft 
poetry  of  the  memory,  and  the  firm,  as  it  were  fused,  and 
glowing  poetry  of  the  imagination.  His  words,  we  may 
half  fancifully  say,  are  like  his  character.      There  is  the 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

same  austerity  in  the  real  essence,  the  same  exquisiteness 
of  sense,  the  same  delicacy  of  form  which  we  know  that 
he  had,  the  same  music  which  we  imagine  there  was  in  his 
voice.  In  both  his  character  and  his  poetry  there  was  an 
ascetic  nature  in  a  sheath  of  beauty. 

[Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism^  Second  Series,  pp.  63-66.^] 

That  Milton,  of  all  our  English  race,  is  by  his  diction 
and  rhythm  the  one  artist  of  the  highest  rank  in  the  great 
style  whom  we  have  ;  this  I  take  as  requiring  no  discussion, 
this  I  take  as  certain. 

The  mighty  power  of  poetry  and  art  is  generally  ad- 
mitted. But  where  the  soul  of  this  power,  of  this  power 
at  its  best,  chiefly  resides,  very  many  of  us  fail  to  see.  It 
resides  chiefly  in  the  refining  and  elevation  wrought  in  us 
by  the  high  and  rare  excellence  of  the  great  style.  We 
may  feel  the  effect  without  being  able  to  give  ourselves 
clear  account  of  its  cause,  but  the  thing  is  so.  Now,  no 
race  needs  the  influences  mentioned,  the  influences  of  re- 
fining and  elevation,  more  than  ours ;  and  in  poetry  and 
art  our  grand  source  for  them  is  Milton. 

To  what  does  he  owe  this  supreme  distinction  ?  To 
nature  first  and  foremost,  to  that  bent  of  nature  for  in- 
equality which  to  the  worshippers  of  the  average  man  is 
so  unacceptable  ;  to  a  gift,  a  divine  favour.  *  The  older 
one  grows,'  says  Goethe,  '  the  more  one  prizes  natural  gifts, 
because  by  no  possibility  can  they  be  procured  and  stuck 
on.'  Nature  formed  Milton  to  be  a  great  poet.  But  what 
other  poet  has  shown  so  sincere  a  sense  of  the  grandeur  of 
his  vocation,  and  a  moral  effort  so  constant  and  sublime 

^  Arnold  writes  in  a  similar  strain  in  the  latter  part  of  his  essay 
entitled  A  French  Critic  on  Milton,  in  Mixed  Essays,  pp.  237-273. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlix 

to  make  and  keep  himself  worthy  of  it  ?  The  Milton  of 
religious  and  political  controversy,  and  perhaps  of  domestic 
life  also,  is  not  seldom  disfigured  by  want  of  amenity,  by 
acerbity.  The  Milton  of  poetry,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one 
of  those  great  men  *  who  are  modest '  —  to  quote  a  fine 
remark  of  Leopardi,  that  gifted  and  stricken  young  Italian, 
who  in  his  sense  for  poetic  style  is  worthy  to  be  named 
with  Dante  and  Milton  — '  who  are  modest,  because  they 
continually  compare  themselves,  not  with  other  men,  but 
with  that  idea  of  the  perfect  which  they  have  before  their 
mind.'  The  Milton  of  poetry  is  the  man,  in  his  own  mag- 
nificent phrase,  of  *  devout  prayer  to  that  Eternal  Spirit 
that  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and 
sends  out  his  Seraphim  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar, 
to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases.'  And 
finally,  the  Milton  of  poetry  is,  in  his  own  words  again,  the 
man  of  'industrious  and  select  reading.'  Continually  he 
lived  in  companionship  with  high  and  rare  excellence,  with 
the  great  Hebrew  poets  and  prophets,  with  the  great  poets 
of  Greece  and  Rome.  The  Hebrew  compositions  were  not 
in  verse,  and  can  be  not  inadequately  represented  by  the 
grand,  measured  prose  of  our  English  Bible.  The  verse  of 
the  poets  of  Greece  and  Rome  no  translation  can  adequately 
reproduce.  Prose  cannot  have  the  power  of  verse ;  verse- 
translation  may  give  whatever  of  charm  is  in  the  soul  and 
talent  of  the  translator  himself,  but  never  the  specific 
charm  of  the  verse  and  poet  translated.  In  our  race  are 
thousands  of  readers,  presently  there  will  be  millions,  who 
know  not  a  word  of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  will  never  learn 
those  languages.  If  this  host  of  readers  are  ever  to  gain 
any  sense  of  the  power  and  charm  of  the  great  poets  of 
antiquity,  their  way  to  gain  it  is  not  through  translations 
of  the  ancients,  but  through  the  original  poetry  of  Milton, 


1  INTRODUCTION. 

who  has  the  like  power  and  charm,  because  he  has  the  like 
great  style. 

TENNYSON'S    SONNET   TO    MILTON. 

O  mighty-mouth'd  inventor  of  harmonies, 
O  skill'd  to  sing  of  Time  or  Eternity, 
God-gifted  organ-voice  of  England, 
Milton,  a  name  to  resound  for  ages  ; 
Whose  Titan  angels,  Gabriel,  Abdiel, 
Starr'd  from  Jehovah's  gorgeous  armouries, 
Tower,  as  the  deep-domed  empyrean 
Rings  to  the  roar  of  an  angel  onset  — 
Me  rather  all  that  bowery  loneliness. 
The  brooks  of  Eden  mazily  murmuring, 
And  bloom  profuse  and  cedar  arches 
Charm,  as  a  wanderer  out  in  ocean, 
Where  some  refulgent  sunset  of  India 
Streams  o'er  a  rich  ambrosial  ocean  isle, 
And  crimson-hued  the  stately  palm-woods 
Whisper  in  odorous  heights  of  even. 


II.     BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

So  much  has  been  written  about  Milton  that  only  the 
best  can  be  mentioned  here.  The  Poetical  Works  of  John 
Milto7i  (Macmillan),  in  three  volumes,  edited  by  Professor 
David  Masson,  is  the  standard  edition  of  Milton's  poetry. 
The  Globe  edition  (Macmillan),  also  edited  by  Professor 
Masson,  contains  the  poetical  works  in  one  volume,  and 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  ^student.  Of  recent 
annotated  editions,  those  of  Verity  and  Browne  may  be 


INTRODUCTION.  U 

specially  mentioned.  The  other  important  editions,  from 
Newton's  down,  are  referred  to  or  quoted  in  the  notes  to 
the  present  volume.  At  least  as  much  of  Milton's  prose 
should  be  read  as  is  contained  in  Morley's  English  Prose 
Writings  of  John  Milton  (Routledge),  if  the  student  has 
not  the  time  or  the  inclination  to  read  through  the  five 
volumes  in  the  Bohn  library. 

Professor  Masson's  Life  of  John  Milton  (Macmillan),  in  six 
volumes,  is  the  authoritative  biography,  although  Brooke's 
Milton  (Appleton),  Pattison's  J////^«  (Harper),  or  Garnett's 
John  Milton  (Walter  Scott),  the  latter  of  which  has  a  good 
bibliography,  will  better  answer  the  needs  of  the  ordinary 
student.  Besides  the  authors  quoted  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  present  volume,  whose  criticisms  should  be  read  in  their 
complete  form,  Addison,  Johnson,  Coleridge,  Macaulay, 
Landor,  Emerson,  Lowell,  and  others  of  less  note  have 
made  contributions  of  more  or  less  value  to  Miltonic  criti- 
cism. The  student  will  find  Bradshaw's  Concordance  to  the 
Poetical  JVorks  (Macmillan)  also  of  value;  for  the  history 
of  Milton's  time,  he  may  consult  Green's  Short  History  of 
the  English  People  (Harper),  and  Gardiner's  Puritan  Revo- 
lution (Longmans). 


L'ALLEGRO,  IL  PENSEROSO,  COMUS, 
AND  LYCIDAS. 


L'ALLEGRO. 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy, 

Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  born 
In  Stygian  cave  forlorn 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy  ! 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell. 

Where  brooding  Darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings. 
And  the  night-raven  sings  ; 

There,  under  ebon  shades  and  low-browed  rocks. 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks. 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell.  lo 

But  come,  thou  Goddess  fair  and  free. 
In  heaven  yclept  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men  heart- easing  Mirth  ; 
Whom  lovely  Venus,  at  a  birth, 
With  two  sister  Graces  more, 
To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore  : 
Or  whether  (as  some  sager  sing) 
The  frolic  wind  that  breathes  the  spring, 
Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing^ 
As  he  met  her  once  a- Maying,  20 


VALLEGRO. 

There,  on  beds  of  violets  blue, 

And  fresh-blown  roses  washed  in  dew, 

Filled  her  with  thee,  a  daughter  fair, 

So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee.  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 

Jest,  and  youthful  Jollity, 

Quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles. 

Nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles 

Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 

And  love  to  live'  in  dimple  sleek  ;  30 

Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides. 

And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 

Come,  and  trip  it,  as  you  go. 

On  the  light  fantastic  toe ; 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 

The  mountain-nymph,  sweet  Liberty  ; 

And,  if  I  give  thee  honour  due, 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 

To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee. 

In  unreproved  pleasures  free  :  40 

To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight. 

And,  singing,  startle  the  dull  night. 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies. 

Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise ; 

Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow. 

And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow. 

Through  the  sweet-briar  or  the  vine, 

Or  the  twisted  eglantine  ; 

While  the  cock,  with  lively  din, 

Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin,  50 

And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door, 


VALLEGRO.  3 

Stoutly  Struts  his  dames  before : 

Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 

Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 

From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 

Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill : 

Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 

By  hedgerow  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 

Right  against  the  eastern  gate 

Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state,  60 

Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light. 

The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight ; 

While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand. 

Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land. 

And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe. 

And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe. 

And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 

Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures. 

Whilst  the  landskip  round  it  measures  :  70 

Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  grey. 

Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray ; 

Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 

The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest ; 

Meadows  trim,  with  daisies  pied ; 

Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide  ; 

Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 

Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 

Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies. 

The  cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes.  80 

Hard  by  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 

From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks. 


VALLEGRO. 

Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met 

Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set 

Of  herbs  and  other  country  messes, 

Which  the  neat-handed  Phylhs  dresses ; 

And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves, 

With  Thestyhs  to  bind  the  sheaves ; 

Or,  if  the  eariier  season  lead, 

To  the  tanned  haycock  in  the  mead.  90 

Sometimes,  with  secure  delight, 

The  upland  hamlets  will  invite. 

When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 

And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 

To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid 

Dancing  in  the  chequered  shade. 

And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 

On  a  sunshine  holiday, 

Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail : 

Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale,  100 

With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat. 

How  Faery  Mab  the  junkets  eat. 

She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said ; 

And  he,  by  Friar's  lantern  led. 

Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 

To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set. 

When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 

His  shadowy  flail  hath  threshed  the  com 

That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end ; 

Then  lies  him  down,  the  lubber  fiend,  no 

And,  stretched  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 

Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength. 

And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings. 


VALLEGRO.    .  5 

Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep, 

By  whispering  winds  soon  killed  asleep. 

Towered  cities  please  us  then, 

And  the  busy  hum  of  men, 

Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold. 

In  weeds  of  peace,  high  triumphs  hold,  120 

With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyes 

Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 

Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 

To  win  her  grace  whom  all  commend. 

There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 

In  saffron  robe,  with  taper  clear, 

And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 

With  mask  and  antique  pageantry  ; 

Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 

On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream.  130 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon. 

If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 

Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 

Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever,  against  eating  cares, 

Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs, 

Married  to  immortal  verse. 

Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce. 

In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out  140 

With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning, 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running. 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony  ; 


VALLEGRO. 

That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 

From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 

Of  heaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 

Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 

Of  Pluto  to  have  quite  set  free 

His  half-regained  Eurydice.  150 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 

Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 


IL   PENSEROSO. 

Hence,  vain  deluding  Joys, 

The  brood  of  Folly  without  father  bred ! 
How  little  you  bested. 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys  ! 
Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess. 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sun-beams, 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams, 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train.  "lo 

But,  hail !  thou  Goddess  sage  and  holy ! 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue ; 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem. 
Or  that  starred  Ethiop  queen  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above  20 

The  Sea- Nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended. 
Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended : 
Thee  bright-haired  Vesta  long  of  yore 
To  solitary  Saturn  bore  ; 
His  daughter  she ;  in  Saturn's  reign 
Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain. 

7 


IL   PENSEROSO. 

Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  glades 

He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 

Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove, 

Whilst  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove.  30 

Come,  pensive  Nun,  devout  and  pure. 

Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure. 

All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain, 

Flowing  with  majestic  train. 

And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn 

Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 

Come  ;  but  keep  thy  wonted  state. 

With  even  step,  and  musing  gait. 

And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies. 

Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes :  40 

There,  held  in  holy  passion  still, 

Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till 

With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast 

Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast. 

And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace  and  Quiet, 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet. 

And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 

Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing ; 

And  add  to  these  retirM  Leisure, 

That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure ;  50 

But,  first  and  chiefest,  with  thee  bring 

Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 

Guiding  the  fiery-wheelM  throne, 

The  Cherub  Contemplation  ; 

And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along, 

'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song, 

In  her  sweetest  saddest  plight. 


IL   PENSEROSO.  9 

Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  Night, 

While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke 

Gently  o'er  the  accustomed  oak.  60 

Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly, 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy  ! 

Thee,  chauntress,  oft  the  woods  among 

I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song  ; 

And,  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 

On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green. 

To  behold  the  wandering  moon, 

Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 

Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 

Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way,  70 

And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bowed, 

Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 

I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound, 

Over  some  wide- watered  shore, 

Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar ; 

Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 

Some  still  removM  place  will  fit. 

Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 

Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom,  .  80 

Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth. 

Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth. 

Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm 

To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 

Or  let  my  lamp,  at  midnight  hour. 

Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower, 

Where  I  may  oft  out  watch  the  Bear, 

With  thrice  great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 


10  IL   PENSEROSO. 

The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 

What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold  90 

The  immortal  mind  that  hath  forsook 

Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook ; 

And  of  those  demons  that  are  found 

In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  underground, 

Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 

With  planet  or  with  element. 

Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 

In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by. 

Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line. 

Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine,  100 

Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 

Ennobled  hath  the  buskined  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin  !  that  thy  power 

Might  raise  Musaeus  from  his  bower  ; 

Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 

Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string. 

Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek, 

And  made  Hell  grant  what  love  did  seek  ; 

Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 

The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold,  no 

Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 

And  who  had  Canace  to  wife. 

That  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass. 

And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass 

On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride ; 

And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 

In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung, 

Of  tumeys,  and  of  trophies  hung. 

Of  forests,  and  enchantments  drear, 


IL   PENSEROSO.  11 

Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear.  120 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career. 

Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear. 

Not  tricked  and  frounced,  as  she  was  wont 

With  the  Attic  boy  to  hunt. 

But  kerchieft  in  a  comely  cloud, 

While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 

Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still, 

When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 

Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves. 

With  minute-drops  from  off  the  eaves.  130 

And,  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 

His  flaring  beams,  me,  Goddess,  bring 

To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 

And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 

Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak. 

Where  the  rude  axe  with  heaved  stroke 

Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt. 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt. 

There,  in  close  covert,  by  some  brook, 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look,  140 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye. 

While  the  bee  with  honeyed  thigh. 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 

And  the  waters  murmuring. 

With  such  consort  as  they  keep. 

Entice  the  dewy-feathered  Sleep. 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings,  in  airy  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  displayed, 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid ;  150 


12  IL   PENSEROSO. 

And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good, 

Or  the  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 

To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale. 

And  love  the  high  embowed  roof. 

With  antique  pillars  massy  proof. 

And  storied  windows  richly  dight. 

Casting  a  dim  religious  light.  i6o 

There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow, 

To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 

In  service  high  and  anthems  clear. 

As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear. 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies. 

And  bring  all  Heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 

Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage. 

The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 

Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell  170 

Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  shew, 

And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew. 

Till  old  experience  do  attain 

To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures.  Melancholy,  give ; 

And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 


COMUS. 

A  Masque  Presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  1634,  before  the 
Earl  of  Bridgewater,  then  President  of  Wales. 

THE   PERSONS. 

The  Attendant  Spirit,  afterwards  in  the  habit  of  Thyrsis. 

Com  us,  with  his  Crew. 

The  Lady. 

First  Brother. 

Second  Brother. 

Sabrina,  the  Nymph. 

The  Chief  Persons  which  presented  were :  — 

The  Lord  Brackley; 

Mr.  Thomas  Egerton,  his  Brother; 

The  Lady  AUce  Egerton. 


COMUS. 

The  first  Scene  discovers  a  wild  wood. 
The  Attendant  Spirit  descends  or  enters. 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  live  insphered 
In  regions  mild  of  calm  and  serene  air, 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot 
Which  men  call  Earth,  and,  with  low-thoughted  care, 
Confined  and  pestered  in  this  pinfold  here. 
Strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and  feverish  being. 
Unmindful  of  the  crown  that  Virtue  gives. 
After  this  mortal  change,  to  her  true  servants 
Amongst  the  enthroned  gods  on  sainted  seats. 
Yet  some  there  be  that  by  due  steps  aspire 
To  lay  their  just  hands  on  that  golden  key 
That  opes  the  palace  of  eternity. 
To  such  my  errand  is  ;  and,  but  for  such, 
I  would  not  soil  these  pure  ambrosial  weeds 
With  the  rank  vapours  of  this  sin-worn  mould. 
But  to  my  task.     Neptune,  besides  the  sway 
Of  every  salt  flood  and  each  ebbing  stream, 
Took  in  by  lot,  'twixt  high  and  nether  Jove, 
Imperial  rule  of  all  the  sea-girt  isles 
That,  like  to  rich  and  various  gems,  inlay 
The  unadorned  bosom  of  the  deep ; 

14 


COMUS.  15 

Which  he,  to  grace  his  tributary  gods, 

By  course  commits  to  several  government. 

And  gives  them  leave  to  wear  their  sapphire  crowns 

And  wield  their  little  tridents.     But  this  Isle, 

The  greatest  and  the  best  of  all  the  main, 

He  quarters  to  his  blue-haired  deities ; 

And  all  this  tract  that  fronts  the  falling  sun  30 

A  noble  Peer  of  mickle  trust  and  power 

Has  in  his  charge,  with  tempered  awe  to  guide 

An  old  and  haughty  nation,  proud  in  arms  : 

Where  his  fair  offspring,  nursed  in  princely  lore. 

Are  coming  to  attend  their  father's  state. 

And  new-intrusted  sceptre.     But  their  way 

Lies  through  the  perplexed  paths  of  this  drear  wood, 

The  nodding  horror  of  whose  shady  brows 

Threats  the  forlorn  and  wandering  passenger ; 

And  here  their  tender  age  might  suffer  peril,  40 

But  that,  by  quick  command  from  sovran  Jove, 

I  was  despatched  for  their  defence  and  guard : 

And  listen  why ;  for  I  will  tell  you  now 

What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song. 

From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower. 

Bacchus,  that  first  from  out  the  purple  grape 
Crushed  the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine. 
After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed. 
Coasting  the  Tyrrhene  shore,  as  the  winds  listed. 
On  Circe's  island  fell.     (Who  knows  not  Circe,  50 

The  daughter  of  the  Sun,  whose  charmed  cup 
Whoever  tasted  lost  his  upright  shape. 
And  downward  fell  into  a  grovelling  swine  ?) 
This  Nymph,  that  gazed  upon  his  clustering  locks, 


16  COMUS. 

With  ivy  berries  wreathed,  and  his  bhthe  youth, 

Had  by  him,  ere  he  parted  thence,  a  son 

Much  Hke  his  father,  but  his  mother  more, 

Whom  therefore  she  brought  up,  and  Comus  named : 

Who,  ripe  and  froHc  of  his  full-grown  age. 

Roving  the  Celtic  and  Iberian  fields,  60 

At  last  betakes  him  to  this  ominous  wood, 

And,  in  thick  shelter  of  black  shades  imbowered. 

Excels  his  mother  at  her  mighty  art ; 

Offering  to  every  weary  traveller 

His  orient  liquor  in  a  crystal  glass. 

To  quench  the  drouth  of  Phoebus  ;  which  as  they  taste 

(For  most  do  taste  through  fond  intemperate  thirst). 

Soon  as  the  potion  works,  their  human  count 'nance, 

The  express  resemblance  of  the  gods,  is  changed 

Into  some  brutish  form  of  wolf  or  bear,  70 

Or  ounce  or  tiger,  hog,  or  bearded  goat, 

All  other  parts  remaining  as  they  were. 

And  they,  so  perfect  is  their  misery. 

Not  once  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement, 

But  boast  themselves  more  comely  than  before. 

And  all  their  friends  and  native  home  forget. 

To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  sty. 

Therefore,  when  any  favoured  of  high  Jove 

Chances  to  pass  through  this  adventurous  glade. 

Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star  80 

I  shoot  from  heaven,  to  give  him  safe  convoy. 

As  now  I  do.     But  first  I  must  put  off 

These  my  sky-robes,  spun  out  of  Iris'  woof. 

And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swain 

That  to  the  service  of  this  house  belongs, 


COMUS.  17 

Who,  with  his  soft  pipe  and  smooth-dittied  song, 

Well  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they  roar. 

And  hush  the  waving  woods ;  nor  of  less  faith 

And  in  this  office  of  his  mountain  watch 

Likeliest,  and  nearest  to  the  present  aid  90 

Of  this  occasion.     But  I  hear  the  tread 

Of  hateful  steps  ;  I  must  be  viewless  now. 

CoMUS  enters,  with  a  charming-rod  in  one  hand,  his  glass  in 

the  other  :  with  him  a  rout  of  7?tonsters,  headed  like  sundry 

sorts  of  wild  beasts,  but  otherwise  like  7nen  and  women, 

-     their  apparel  glistering.      They  come  in  fnaking  a  riotous 

aftd  tmruly  noise,  with  torches  in  their  hands. 

Comus.     The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold 
Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold ; 
And  the  gilded  car  of  day 
His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 
In  the  steep  Atlantic  stream  ; 
And  the  slope  sun  his  upward  beam 
Shoots  against  the  dusky  pole. 

Pacing  toward  the  other  goal  100 

Of  his  chamber  in  the  east. 
Meanwhile,  welcome  joy  and  feast, 
Midnight  shout  and  revelry. 
Tipsy  dance  and  jollity. 
Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine. 
Dropping  odours,  dropping  wine. 
Rigour  now  is  gone  to  bed ; 
And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head, 
Strict  Age,  and  sour  Severity, 
With  their  grave  saws,  in  slumber  lie.  no 


18  COMUS. 

We,  that  are  of  purer  fire, 

Imitate  the  starry  quire. 

Who,  in  their  nightly  watchful  spheres. 

Lead  in  swift  round  the  months  and  years. 

The  sounds  and  seas,  with  all  their  finny  drove. 

Now  to  the  moon  in  wavering  morrice  move ; 

And  on  the  tawny  sands  and  shelves 

Trip  the  pert  fairies  and  the  dapper  elves. 

By  dimpled  brook  and  fountain-brim. 

The  wood-nymphs,  decked  with  daisies  trim,  120 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep  : 

What  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep } 

Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove ; 

Venus  now  wakes,  and  wakens  Love. 

Come,  let  us  our  rights  begin  ; 

'T  is  only  daylight  that  makes  sin. 

Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report. 

Hail,  goddess  of  nocturnal  sport. 

Dark- veiled  Cotytfo,  to  whom  the  secret  flame 

Of  midnight  torches  burns  !  mysterious  dame,  130 

That  ne'er  art  called  but  when  the  dragon  womb 

Of  Stygian  darkness  spets  her  thickest  gloom. 

And  makes  one  blot  of  all  the  air ! 

Stay  thy  cloudy  ebon  chair. 

Wherein  thou  rides t  with  Hecat',  and  befriend 

Us  thy  vowed  priests,  till  utmost  end 

Of  all  thy  dues  be  done,  and  none  left  out. 

Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout. 

The  nice  Morn  on  the  Indian  steep. 

From  her  cabined  loop-hole  peep,  140 

And  to  the  tell-tale  Sun  descry 


COMUS.  19 

Our  concealed  solemnity. 

Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground 

In  a  light  fantastic  round. 

The  Measure. 

Break  off,  break  off !     I  feel  the  different  pace 
Of  some  chaste  footing  near  about  this  ground. 
Run  to  your  shrouds  within  these  brakes  and  trees ; 
Our  number  may  affright.     Some  virgin  sure 
(For  so  I  can  distinguish  by  mine  art) 
Benighted  in  these  woods  !     Now  to  my  charms,         1 50 
And  to  my  wily  trains  :  I  shall  ere  long 
Be  well  stocked  with  as  fair  a  herd  as  grazed 
About  my  mother  Circe.     Thus  I  hurl 
My  dazzling  spells  into  the  spongy  air, 
Of  power  to  cheat  the  eye  with  blear  illusion, 
And  give  it  false  presentments,  lest  the  place 
And  my  quaint  habits  breed  astonishment, 
And  put  the  damsel  to  suspicious  flight ; 
Which  must  not  be,  for  that 's  against  my  course. 
I,  under  fair  pretence  of  friendly  ends,  160 

And  well-placed  words  of  glozing  courtesy, 
Baited  with  reasons  not  unplausible. 
Wind  me  into  the  easy-hearted  man, 
And  hug  him  into  snares.     When  once  her  eye 
Hath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magic  dust, 
I  shall  appear  some  harmless  villager 
Whom  thrift  keeps  up  about  his  country  gear. 
But  here  she  comes  ;  I  fairly  step  aside. 
And  hearken,  if  I  may  her  business  hear. 


20  COMUS. 


The  Lady  enters. 


Lady.    This  way  the  noise  was,  if  mine  ear  be  true,  170 
My  best  guide  now.     Methought  it  was  the  sound 
Of  riot  and  ill-managed  merriment. 
Such  as  the  jocund  flute  or  gamesome  pipe 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose  unlettered  hinds. 
When,  for  their  teeming  flocks  and  granges  full. 
In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous  Pan, 
And  thank  the  gods  amiss.     I  should  be  loth 
To  meet  the  rudeness  and  swilled  insolence 
Of  such  late  wassailers  ;  yet,  oh  !  where  else 
Shall  I  inform  my  unacquainted  feet  180 

In  the  blind  mazes  of  this  tangled  wood } 
My  brothers,  when  they  saw  me  wearied  out 
With  this  long  way,  resolving  here  to  lodge 
Under  the  spreading  favour  of  these  pines. 
Stepped,  as  they  said,  to  the  next  thicket-side 
To  bring  me  berries,  or  such  cooling  fruit 
As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide. 
They  left  me  then  when  the  grey-hooded  Even, 
Like  a  sad  votarist  in  palmer's  weed. 
Rose  from  the  hindmost  wheels  of  Phoebus'  wain.        190 
But  where  they  are,  and  why  they  came  not  back. 
Is  now  the  labour  of  my  thoughts.     'T  is  likeliest 
They  had  engaged  their  wandering  steps  too  far ; 
And  envious  darkness,  ere  they  could  return. 
Had  stole  them  from  me.     Else,  O  thievish  Night, 
Why  shouldst  thou,  but  for  some  felonious  end. 
In  thy  dark  lantern  thus  close  up  the  stars 
That  Nature  hung  in  heaven,  and  filled  their  lamps 


COMUS.  21 

With  everlasting  oil  to  give  due  light 

To  the  misled  and  lonely  traveller  ?  200 

This  is  the  place,  as  well  as  I  may  guess, 

Whence  even  now  the  tumult  of  loud  mirth 

Was  rife,  and  perfect  in  my  listening  ear ; 

Yet  nought  but  single  darkness  do  I  find. 

What  might  this  be  ?     A  thousand  fantasies 

Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory. 

Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire, 

And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 

On  sands  and  shores  and  desert  wildernesses. 

These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  but  not  astound       210 

The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 

By  a  strong  siding  champion.  Conscience. 

O,  welcome,  pure-eyed  Faith,  white-handed  Hope, 

Thou  hovering  angel  girt  with  golden  wings, 

And  thou  unblemished  form  of  Chastity ! 

I  see  ye  visibly,  and  now  believe 

That  He,  the  Supreme  Good,  to  whom  all  things  ill 

Are  but  as  slavish  officers  of  vengeance. 

Would  send  a  glistering  guardian,  if  need  were, 

To  keep  my  life  and  honour  unassailed.  ...  220 

Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night } 

I  did  not  err :  there  does  a  sable  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night. 

And  casts  a  gleam  over  this  tufted  grove. 

I  cannot  hallo  to  my  brothers,  but 

Such  noise  as  I  can  make  to  be  heard  farthest 

I  '11  venture  ;  for  my  new-enlivened  spirits 

Prompt  me,  and  they  perhaps  are  not  far  off. 


22  COMUS. 

Song. 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv'st  unseen  230 

Within  thy  airy  shell 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet-embroidered  vale 

Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  moumeth  well : 
Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are  ? 

O,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave. 

Tell  me  but  where,  240 

Sweet  Queen  of  Parley,  Daughter  of  the  Sphere ! 
So  may'st  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies. 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies ! 

Comus.     Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  ? 
Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast. 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 
How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 
Of  silence,  through  the  empty- vaulted  night,  250 

At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 
Of  darkness  till  it  smiled !     I  have  oft  heard 
My  mother  Circe  with  the  Sirens  three, 
Amidst  the  flowery-kirtled  Naiades, 
Culling  their  potent  herbs  and  baleful  drugs. 
Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prisoned  soul. 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium  :   Scylla  wept, 


COMUS.  23 

And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention, 

And  fell  Charybdis  murmured  soft  applause.  ^^ 

Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lulled  the  sense,  260 

And  in  sweet  madness  robbed  it  of  itself ; 

But  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight. 

Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 

I  never  heard  till  now.     I  '11  speak  to  her, 

And  she  shall  be  my  queen.  —  Hail,  foreign  wonder ! 

Whom  certain  these  rough  shades  did  never  breed. 

Unless  the  goddess  that  in  rural  shrine 

Dwell'st  here  with  Pan  or  Sylvan,  by  blest  song 

Forbidding  every  bleak  unkindly  fog 

To  touch  the  prosperous  growth  of  this  tall  wood.       270 

Lady.     Nay,  gentle  shepherd,  ill  is  lost  that  praise 
That  is  addressed  to  unattending  ears. 
Not  any  boast  of  skill,  but  extreme  shift 
How  to  regain  my  severed  company. 
Compelled  me  to  awake  the  courteous  Echo 
To  give  me  answer  from  her  mossy  couch. 

Comus.     What  chance,  good  Lady,  hath  bereft  you 
thus .? 

Lady.     Dim  darkness  and  this  leafy  labyrinth. 

Comus.     Could  that    divide  you   from   near-ushering 
guides  1 

Lady.     They  left  me  weary  on  a  grassy  turf.  280 

Comus.     By  falsehood,  or  discourtesy,  or  why } 

Lady.     To  seek  i'  the  valley  some  cool  friendly  spring. 

Comus.     And  left  your  fair  side  all  unguarded.  Lady. -^ 

Lady.     They   were  but   twain,   and  purposed  quick 
return. 

Comus.     Perhaps  forestalling  night  prevented  them. 


24  COMUS. 

Lady.     How  easy  my  misfortune  is  to  hit ! 

Conius.     Imports  their  loss,  beside  the  present  need  ? 

Lady.     No  less  than  if  I  should  my  brothers  lose. 

Comus.    Were  they  of  manly  prime,  or  youthful  bloom  ? 

Lady.     As  smooth  as  Hebe's  their  unrazored  lips.  290 

Comus.     Two  such  I  saw,  what  time  the  laboured  ox 
In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came. 
And  the  s winked  hedger  at  his  supper  sat. 
I  saw  them  under  a  green  mantling  vine. 
That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill, 
Plucking  ripe  clusters  from  the  tender  shoots ; 
Their  port  was  more  than  human,  as  they  stood. 
I  took  it  for  a  faery  vision 
Of  some  gay  creatures  of  the  element. 
That  in  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  live,  300 

And  play  i'  the  plighted  clouds.     I  was  awe-strook. 
And,  as  I  passed,  I  worshiped.     If  those  you  seek. 
It  were  a  journey  like  the  path  to  Heaven 
To  help  you  find  them. 

Lady.  Gentle  villager, 

What  readiest  way  would  bring  me  to  that  place .? 

Comus.     Due  west  it  rises  from  this  shrubby  point. 

Lady.     To  find  out  that,  good  shepherd,  I  suppose. 
In  such  a  scant  allowance  of  star-light. 
Would  overtask  the  best  land-pilot's  art. 
Without  the  sure  guess  of  well-practised  feet.  310 

Comus.     I  know  each  lane,  and  every  alley  green, 
Dingle,  or  bushy  dell,  of  this  wild  wood. 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side. 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighbourhood ; 
And,  if  your  stray  attendance  be  yet  lodged, 


COMUS.  25 

Or  shroud  within  these  Hmits,  I  shall  know 

Ere  morrow  wake,  or  the  low-roosted  lark 

From  her  thatched  pallet  rouse.     If  otherwise, 

I  can  conduct  you.  Lady,  to  a  low 

But  loyal  cottage,  where  you  may  be  safe  320 

Till  further  quest. 

Lady.  Shepherd,  I  take  thy  word. 

And  trust  thy  honest-offered  courtesy. 
Which  oft  is  sooner  found  in  lowly  sheds, 
With  smoky  rafters,  than  in  tapestry  halls 
And  courts  of  princes,  where  it  first  was  named. 
And  yet  is  most  pretended.     In  a  place 
Less  warranted  than  this,  or  less  secure, 
I  cannot  be,  that  I  should  fear  to  change  it. 
Eye  me,  blest  Providence,  and  square  my  trial 
To  my  proportioned  strength !     Shepherd,  lead  on.     330 

The  Two  Brothers. 

Eld.  Bro.   Unmuffle,  ye  faint  stars ;  and  thou,  fair  moon, 
That  wont'st  to  love  the  traveller's  benison. 
Stoop  thy  pale  visage  through  an  amber  cloud. 
And  disinherit  Chaos,  that  reigns  here 
In  double  night  of  darkness  and  of  shades  ; 
Or,  if  your  influence  be  quite  dammed  up 
With  black  usurping  mists,  some  gentle  taper. 
Though  a  rush-candle  from  the  wicker  hole 
Of  some  clay  habitation,  visit  us 

With  thy  long  levelled  rule  of  streaming  light,  340 

And  thou  shalt  be  our  star  of  Arcady, 
Or  Tyrian  Cynosure. 


26  COMUS. 

Sec,  Bro.  Or,  if  our  eyes 

Be  barred  that  happiness,  might  we  but  hear 
The  folded  flocks,  penned  in  their  wattled  cotes, 
Or  sound  of  pastoral  reed  with  oaten  stops. 
Or  whistle  from  the  lodge,  or  village  cock 
Count  the  night-watches  to  his  feathery  dames, 
'T  would  be  some  solace  yet,  some  little  cheering, 
In  this  close  dungeon  of  innumerous  boughs. 
But,  oh,  that  hapless  virgin,  our  lost  sister !  350 

Where  may  she  wander  now,  whither  betake  her 
From  the  chill  dew,  amongst  rude  burs  and  thistles  ? 
Perhaps  some  cold  bank  is  her  bolster  now. 
Or  'gainst  the  rugged  bark  of  some  broad  elm 
Leans  her  unpillowed  head,  fraught  with  sad  fears. 
What  if  in  wild  amazement  and  affright. 
Or,  while  we  speak,  within  the  direful  grasp 
Of  savage  hunger,  or  of  savage  heat ! 

Eld.  Bro.     Peace,  brother  :  be  not  over-exquisite 
To  cast  the  fashion  of  uncertain  evils  ;  360 

For,  grant  they  be  so,  while  they  rest  unknown. 
What  need  a  man  forestall  his  date  of  grief. 
And  run  to  meet  what  he  would  most  avoid } 
Or,  if  they  be  but  false  alarms  of  fear, 
How  bitter  is  such  self-delusion ! 
I  do  not  think  my  sister  so  to  seek. 
Or  so  unprincipled  in  virtue's  book, 
And  the  sweet  peace  that  goodness  bosoms  ever, 
As  that  the  single  want  of  light  and  noise 
(Not  being  in  danger,  as  I  trust  she  is  not)  370 

Could  stir  the  constant  mood  of  her  calm  thoughts, 
And  put  them  into  misbecoming  plight. 


COMUS.  27 

Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 
By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and  moon 
Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk.     And  Wisdom's  self 
Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude, 
Where,  with  her  best  nurse,  Contemplation, 
She  plumes  her  feathers,  and  lets  grow  her  wings, 
That,  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort. 
Were  all  to-ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired.  380 

He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast 
May  sit  i'  the  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day : 
But  he  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun  ; 
Himself  is  his  own  dungeon. 
^     Sec.  Bro.  'Tis  most  true 

That  musing  meditation  most  affects 
The  pensive  secrecy  of  desert  cell. 
Far  from  the  cheerful  haunt  of  men  and  herds, 
And  sits  as  safe  as  in  a  senate-house ; 
For  who  would  rob  a  hermit  of  his  weeds,  390 

His  few  books,  or  his  beads,  or  maple  dish. 
Or  do  his  grey  hairs  any  violence } 
But  Beauty,  like  the  fair  Hesperian  tree 
Laden  with  blooming  gold,  had  need  the  guard 
Of  dragon-watch  with  unenchanted  eye 
To  save  her  blossoms,  and  defend  her  fruit. 
From  the  rash  hand  of  bold  Incontinence. 
You  may  as  well  spread  out  the  unsunned  heaps 
Of  miser's  treasure  by  an  outlaw's  den. 
And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  as  bid  me  hope  400 

Danger  will  wink  on  Opportunity, 
And  let  a  single  helpless  maiden  pass 


28  COMUS. 

Uninjured  in  this  wild  surrounding  waste. 
Of  night  or  loneliness  it  recks  me  not ; 
I  fear  the  dread  events  that  dog  them  both, 
Lest  some  ill-greeting  touch  attempt  the  person 
Of  our  unowned  sister. 

Eld.  Bro.  I  do  not,  brother. 

Infer  as  if  I  thought  my  sister's  state 
Secure  without  all  doubt  or  controversy ; 
Yet,  where  an  equal  poise  of  hope  and  fear  410 

Does  arbitrate  the  event,  my  nature  is 
That  I  incline  to  hope  rather  than  fear. 
And  gladly  banish  squint  suspicion. 
My  sister  is  not  so  defenceless  left 
As  you  imagine ;  she  has  a  hidden  strength, 
Which  you  remember  not. 

Sec.  Bro.  What  hidden  strength. 

Unless  the  strength  of  Heaven,  if  you  mean  that } 

Eld.  Bro.     I  mean  that  too,  but  yet  a  hidden  strength, 
Which,  if  Heaven  gave  it,  may  be  termed  her  own. 
'T  is  chastity,  my  brother,  chastity :  420 

She  that  has  that  is  clad  in  complete  steel. 
And,  like  a  quivered  nymph  with  arrows  keen. 
May  trace  huge  forests,  and  unharboured  heaths. 
Infamous  hills,  and  sandy  perilous  wilds  ; 
Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  chastity. 
No  savage  fierce,  bandite,  or  mountaineer, 
Will  dare  to  soil  her  virgin  purity. 
Yea,  there  where  very  desolation  dwells. 
By  grots  and  caverns  shagged  with  horrid  shades, 
She  may  pass  on  with  unblenched  majesty,  430 

Be  it  not  done  in  pride,  or  in  presumption. 


COMUS.  29 

Some  say  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night, 

In  fog  or  fire,  by  lake  or  moorish  fen, 

Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost. 

That  breaks  his  magic  chains  at  curfew  time, 

No  goblin  or  swart  faery  of  the  mine. 

Hath  hurtful  power  o'er  true  virginity. 

Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I  call 

Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Greece 

To  testify  the  arms  of  chastity  ?  440 

Hence  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow 

Fair  silver-shafted  queen  for  ever  chaste,    ♦ 

Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 

And  spotted  mountain-pard,  but  set  at  nought 

The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid  ;  gods  and  men 

Feared  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  o'  the  woods. 

What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield 

That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquered  virgin. 

Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congealed  stone. 

But  rigid  looks  of  chaste  austerity,  450 

And  noble  grace  that  dashed  brute  violence 

With  sudden  adoration  and  blank  awe } 

So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity 

That,  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 

A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her. 

Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt. 

And  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision 

Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear ; 

Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 

Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  the  outward  shape,  460 

The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 

And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence, 


30  COMUS. 

Till  all  be  made  immortal.     But,  when  lust, 

By  unchaste  looks,  loose  gestures,  and  foul  talk, 

But  most  by  lewd  and  lavish  act  of  sin. 

Lets  in  defilement  to  the  inward  parts. 

The  soul  grows  clotted  by  contagion, 

Imbodies,  and  imbrutes,  till  she  quite  loose 

The  divine  property  of  her  first  being. 

Such  are  those  thick  and  gloomy  shadows  damp  470 

Oft  seen  in  charnel-vaults  and  sepulchres. 

Lingering  and  sitting  by  a  new-made  grave, 

As  loth  to  leave  the  body  that  it  loved. 

And  linked  itself  by  carnal  sensualty 

To  a  degenerate  and  degraded  state. 

Sec.  Bro,     How  charming  is  divine  Philosophy ! 
Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose. 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute. 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets. 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns. 

Eld.  Bro.  List !  list !     I  hear   480 

Some  far-off  hallo  break  the  silent  air. 

Sec.  Bro.     Methought  so  too  ;  what  should  it  be  t 

Eld,  Bro.  For  certain, 

Either  some  one,  like  us,  night-foundered  here, 
Or  else  some  neighbour  woodman,  or,  at  worst. 
Some  roving  robber  calling  to  his  fellows. 

Sec.  Bro.     Heaven  keep  my  sister !     Again,  again, 
and  near ! 
Best  draw,  and  stand  upon  our  guard. 

Eld.  Bro.  I  '11  hallo. 

If  he  be  friendly,  he  comes  well :  if  not. 
Defence  is  a  good  cause,  and  Heaven  be  for  us ! 


COMUS.  31 

The  Attendant  Spirit,  habited  like  a  shepherd. 

That  hallo  I  should  know.     What  are  you  ?  speak.     490 
Come  not  too  near ;  you  fall  on  iron  stakes  else. 

Spir.     What  voice  is  that  1  my  young  Lord  t  speak 
again. 

Sec.  Bro.     O  brother,  't  is  my  father's  Shepherd,  sure. 

Eld.  Bro.     Thyrsis !    whose  artful   strains   have  oft 
delayed 
The  huddling  brook  to  hear  his  madrigal. 
And  sweetened  every  musk-rose  of  the  dale. 
How  camest  thou  here,  good  swain  }     Hath  any  ram 
Slipped  from  the  fold,  or  young  kid  lost  his  dam. 
Or  straggling  wether  the  pent  flock  forsook } 
How  couldst  thou  find  this  dark  sequestered  nook }     500 

Spir.     O  my  loved  master's  heir,  and  his  next  joy, 
I  came  not  here  on  such  a  trivial  toy 
As  a  strayed  ewe,  or  to  pursue  the  stealth 
Of  pilfering  wolf ;  not  all  the  fleecy  wealth 
That  doth  enrich  these  downs  is  worth  a  thought 
To  this  my  errand,  and  the  care  it  brought. 
But,  oh !  my  virgin  Lady,  where  is  she } 
How  chance  she  is  not  in  your  company  "t 

Eld.  Bro.    To  tell  thee  sadly.  Shepherd,  without  blame 
Or  our  neglect,  we  lost  her  as  we  came.  510 

Spir.     Ay  me  unhappy  !  then  my  fears  are  true. 

Eld.  Bro.    What  fears,  good  Thyrsis  }    Prithee  briefly 
shew. 

Spir.     I  '11  tell  ye.     'T  is  not  vain  or  fabulous 
(Though  so  esteemed  by  shallow  ignorance) 
What  the  sage  poets,  taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse, 


32  COMUS. 

Storied  of  old  in  high  immortal  verse 

Of  dire  Chimeras  and  enchanted  "isles, 

And  rifted  rocks  whose  entrance  leads  to  Hell ; 

For  such  there  be,  but  unbelief  is  blind. 

Within  the  navel  of  this  hideous  wood,  520 

Immured  in  cypress  shades,  a  sorcerer  dwells. 
Of  Bacchus  and  of  Circe  born,  great  Comus, 
Deep  skilled  in  all  his  mother's  witcheries, 
And  here  to  every  thirsty  wanderer 
By  sly  enticement  gives  his  baneful  cup. 
With  many  murmurs  mixed,  whose  pleasing  poison 
The  visage  quite  transforms  of  him  that  drinks. 
And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 
Fixes  instead,  unmoulding  reason's  mintage 
Charactered  in  the  face.     This  have  I  learnt  530 

Tending  my  flocks  hard  by  i'  the  hilly  crofts 
That  brow  this  bottom  glade ;  whence  night  by  night 
He  and  his  monstrous  rout  are  heard  to  howl 
Like  stabled  wolves,  or  tigers  at  their  prey, 
Doing  abhorred  rites  to  Hecate 
In  their  obscured  haunts  of  inmost  bowers. 
Yet  have  they  many  baits  and  guileful  spells 
To  inveigle  and  invite  the  unwary  sense 
Of  them  that  pass  unweeting  by  the  way. 
This  evening  late,  by  then  the  chewing  flocks  ^   540 

Had  ta'en  their  supper  on  the  savoury  herb 
Of  knot-grass  dew-besprent,  and  were  in  fold, 
I  sat  me  down  to  watch  upon  a  bank 
With  ivy  canopied,  and  interwove 
With  flaunting  honeysuckle,  and  began, 
Wrapt  in  a  pleasing  fit  of  melancholy. 


COMUS.  33 

To  meditate  my  rural  minstrelsy, 

Till  fancy  had  her  fill.     But  ere  a  close 

The  wonted  roar  was  up  amidst  the  woods, 

And  filled  the  air  with  barbarous  dissonance ;  550 

At  which  I  ceased,  and  listened  them  awhile, 

Till  an  unusual  stop  of  sudden  silence 

Gave  respite  to  the  drowsy-flighted  steeds 

That  draw  the  litter  of  close-curtained  Sleep. 

At  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound 

Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distilled  perfumes. 

And  stole  upon  the  air,  that  even  Silence 

Was  took  ere  she  was  ware,  and  wished  she  might 

Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more. 

Still  to  be  so  displaced.     I  was  all  ear,  560 

And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 

Under  the  ribs  of  Death.     But,  oh  !  ere  long 

Too  well  I  did  perceive  it  was  the  voice 

Of  my  most  honoured  Lady,  your  dear  sister. 

Amazed  I  stood,  harrowed  with  grief  and  fear ; 

And  "  O  poor  hapless  nightingale,"  thought  I, 

*'  How  sweet  thou  sing'st,  how  near  the  deadly  snare !  " 

Then  down  the  lawns  I  ran  with  headlong  haste, 

Through  paths  and  turnings  often  trod  by  day. 

Till,  guided  by  mine  ear,  I  found  the  place  570 

Where  that  damned  wizard,  hid  in  sly  disguise 

(For  so  by  certain  signs  I  knew),  had  met 

Already,  ere  my  best  speed  could  prevent. 

The  aidless  innocent  lady,  his  wished  prey ; 

Who  gently  asked  if  he  had  seen  such  two, 

Supposing  him  some  neighbour  villager. 

Longer  I  durst  not  stay,  but  soon  I  guessed 


34  COMUS, 

Ye  were  the  two  she  meant ;  with  that  I  sprung 
Into  swift  flight,  till  I  had  found  you  here ; 
But  further  know  I  not. 

Sec.  Bro.  O  night  and  shades,  580 

How  are  ye  joined  with  hell  in  triple  knot 
Against  the  unarmed  weakness  of  one  virgin, 
Alone  and  helpless  !     Is  this  the  confidence     - 
You  gave  me,  brother  ? 

Eld.  Bro.  Yes,  and  keep  it  still ; 

Lean  on  it  safely  ;  not  a  period 
Shall  be  unsaid  for  me.     Against  the  threats 
Of  malice  or  of  sorcery,  or  that  power 
Which  erring  men  call  Chance,  this  I  hold  firm : 
Virtue  may  be  assailed,  but  never  hurt. 
Surprised  by  unjust  force,  but  not  enthralled ;  590 

Yea,  even  that  which  Mischief  meant  mo^t  harm 
Shall  in  the  happy  trial  prove  most  glory. 
But  evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil. 
And  mix  no  more  with  goodness,  when  at  last. 
Gathered  like  scum,  and  settled  to  itself. 
It  shall  be  in  eternal  restless  change 
Self-fed  and  self- consumed.     If  this  fail, 
The  pillared  firmament  is  rottenness. 
And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.     But  come,  let 's  on  ! 
Against  the  opposing  will  and  arm  of  heaven  600 

May  never  this  just  sword  be  lifted  up ; 
But,  for  that  damned  magician,  let  him  be  girt 
With  all  the  griesly  legions  that  troop 
Under  the  sooty  flag  of  Acheron, 
Harpies  and  Hydras,  or  all  the  monstrous  forms 
'Twixt  Africa  and  Ind,  I  '11  find  him  out, 


COMUS.  35 

And  force  him  to  return  his  purchase  back, 
Or  drag  him  by  the  curls  to  a  foul  death, 
Cursed  as  his  life. 

Spir,  Alas  !  good  venturous  youth, 

I  love  thy  courage  yet,  and  bold  emprise  ;  6io 

But  here  thy  sword  can  do  thee  little  stead. 
Far  other  arms  and  other  weapons  must 
Be  those  that  quell  the  might  of  hellish  charms. 
He  with  his  bare  wand  can  unthread  thy  joints. 
And  crumble  all  thy  sinews. 

Eld.  Bro.  Why,  prithee.  Shepherd, 

How  durst  thou  then  thyself  approach  so  near 
As  to  make  this  relation } 

Spir.  Care  and  utmost  shifts 

How  to  secure  the  Lady  from  surprisal 
Brought  to  my  mind  a  certain  shepherd  lad. 
Of  small  regard  to  see  to,  yet  well  skilled  620 

In  every  virtuous  plant  and  healing  herb 
That  spreads  her  verdant  leaf  to  the  morning  ray. 
He  loved  me  well,  and  oft  would  beg  me  sing ; 
Which  when  I  did,  he  on  the  tender  grass 
Would  sit,  and  hearken  even  to  ecstasy, 
And  in  requital  ope  his  leathern  scrip. 
And  show  me  simples  of  a  thousand  names. 
Telling  their  strange  and  vigorous  faculties. 
Amongst  the  rest  a  small  unsightly  root, 
But  of  divine  effect,  he  culled  me  out.  630 

The  leaf  was  darkish,  and  had  prickles  on  it. 
But  in  another  country,  as  he  said. 
Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  but  not  in  this  soil : 
Unknown,  and  like  esteemed,  and  the  dull  swain 


36  COMUS. 

Treads  on  it  daily  with  his  clouted  shoon ; 

And  yet  more  med'cinal  is  it  than  that  Moly 

That  Hermes  once  to  wise  Ulysses  gave. 

He  called  it  Haemony,  and  gave  it  me, 

And  bade  me  keep  it  as  of  sovran  use 

'Gainst  all  enchantments,  mildew  blast,  or  damp,         640 

Or  ghastly  Furies'  apparition. 

I  pursed  it  up,  but  little  reckoning  made, 

Till  now  that  this  extremity  compelled. 

But  now  I  find  it  true ;  for  by  this  means 

I  knew  the  foul  enchanter,  though  disguised, 

Entered  the  very  lime-twigs  of  his  spells, 

And  yet  came  off.     If  you  have  this  about  you 

(As  I  will  give  you  when  we  go),  you  may 

Boldly  assault  the  necromancer's  hall ; 

Where  if  he  be,  with  dauntless  hardihood  ,  650 

And  brandished  blade  rush  on  him  ;  break  his  glass. 

And  shed  the  luscious  liquor  on  the  ground ; 

But  seize  his  wand.     Though  he  and  his  curst  crew 

Fierce  sign  of  battle  make,  and  menace  high, 

Or,  like  the  sons  of  Vulcan,  vomit  smoke. 

Yet  will  they  soon  retire,  if  he  but  shrink. 

Eld.  Bro.     Thy r sis,  lead  on  apace  ;  I  '11  follow  thee  ; 
And  some  good  angel  bear  a  shield  before  us ! 

The  Scene  changes  to  a  stately  palace^  set  out  with  all  7nanner  of 
deliciousness :  soft  music,  tables  spread  with  all  dainties. 
CoMUS  appears  with  his  rabble,  and  the  Lady  set  in  an 
enchanted  chair;  to  whom  he  offers  his  glass;  which  she 
puts  by,  and  goes  about  to  rise. 

Comus.     Nay,  Lady,  sit.     If  I  but  wave  this  wand, 
Your  nerves  are  all  chained  up  in  alabaster,  660 


COMUS.  37 

And  you  a  statue,  or  as  Daphne  was, 
Root-bound,  that  fled  Apollo. 

Lady.  Fool,  do  not  boast. 

Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind 
With  all  thy  charms,  although  this  corporal  rind 
Thou  hast  immanacled  while  Heaven  sees  good. 

Comus.  Why  are  you  vexed.  Lady }  why  do  you  frown } 
Here  dwell  no  frowns,  nor  anger ;  from  these  gates 
Sorrow  flies  far.     See,  here  be  all  the  pleasures 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts. 
When  the  fresh  blood  grows  lively,  and  returns  670 

Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in  primrose  season. 
And  first  behold  this  cordial  julep  here. 
That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds. 
With  spirits  of  balm  and  fragrant  syrups  mixed. 
Not  that  Nepenthes  which  the  wife  of  Thone 
In  Egypt  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena 
Is  of  such  power  to  stir  up  joy  as  this. 
To  life  so  friendly,  or  so  cool  to  thirst. 
Why  should  you  be  so  cruel  to  yourself. 
And  to  those  dainty  limbs,  which  Nature  lent  680 

For  gentle  usage  and  soft  delicacy } 
But  you  invert  the  covenants  of  her  trust, 
And  harshly  deal,  like  an  ill  borrower. 
With  that  which  you  received  on  other  terms, 
Scorning  the  unexempt  condition 
By  which  all  mortal  frailty  must  subsist. 
Refreshment  after  toil,  ease  after  pain. 
That  have  been  tired  all  day  without  repast. 
And  timely  rest  have  wanted.     But,  fair  virgin, 
This  will  restore  all  soon. 


38  COMUS. 

Lady,  T  will  not,  false  traitor  !  690 

'T  will  not  restore  the  truth  and  honesty 
That  thou  hast  banished  from  thy  tongue  with  lies. 
Was  this  the  cottage  and  the  safe  abode 
Thou  told' St  me  of  ?     What  grim  aspects  are  these, 
These  oughly-headed  monsters  ?     Mercy  guard  me  ! 
Hence  with  thy  brewed  enchantments,  foul  deceiver  ! 
Hast  thou  betrayed  my  credulous  innocence 
With  vizored  falsehood  and  base  forgery  ? 
And  would' st  thou  seek  again  to  trap  me  here 
With  liquorish  baits,  fit  to  ensnare  a  brute  ?  700 

Were  it  a  draught  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 
I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  offer.     None 
But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things ; 
And  that  which  is  not  good  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite. 

Comus.     O  foolishness  of  men  !  that  lend  their  ears 
To. those  budge  doctors  of  the  Stoic  fur, 
And  fetch  their  precepts  from  the  Cynic  tub. 
Praising  the  lean  and  sallow  Abstinence  ! 
Wherefore  did  Nature  pour  her  bounties  forth  710 

With  such  a  full  and  unwithdrawing  hand. 
Covering  the  earth  with  odours,  fruits,  and  flocks. 
Thronging  the  seas  with  spawn  innumerable. 
But  all  to  please  and  sate  the  curious  taste } 
And  set  to  work  millions  of  spinning  worms, 
That  in  their  green  shops  weave  the  smooth-haired  silk. 
To  deck  her  sons  ;  and,  that  no  corner  might 
Be  vacant  of  her  plenty,  in  her  own  loins 
She  hutched  the  all-worshipped  ore  and  precious  gems. 
To  store  her  children  with.     If  all  the  world  720 


COMUS.  39 

Should,  in  a  pet  of  temperance,  feed  on  pulse. 

Drink  the  clear  stream,  and  nothing  wear  but  frieze, 

The  All-giver  would  be  unthanked,  would  be  unpraised, 

Not  half  his  riches  known,  and  yet  despised ; 

And  we  should  serve  him  as  a  grudging  master. 

As  a  penurious  niggard  of  his  wealth, 

And  live  like  Nature's  bastards,  not  her  sons. 

Who  would  be  quite  surcharged  with  her  own  weight, 

And  strangled  with  her  waste  fertility : 

The  earth  cumbered,  and  the  winged  air  darked  with 

plumes,  730 

The  herds  would  over-multitude  their  lords  ; 
The    sea   o'erfraught  would    swell,   and    the    unsought 

diamonds 
Would  so  emblaze  the  forehead  of  the  deep. 
And  so  bestud  with  stars,  that  they  below 
Would  grow  inured  to  light,  and  come  at  last 
To  gaze  upon  the  sun  with  shameless  brows. 
List,  Lady ;  be  not  coy,  and  be  not  cozened 
With  that  same  vaunted  name.  Virginity. 
Beauty  is  Nature's  coin  ;  must  not  be  hoarded. 
But  must  be  current  ;  and  the  good  thereof  740 

Consists  in  mutual  and  partaken  bliss, 
Unsavoury  in  the  enjoyment  of  itself. 
If  you  let  slip  time,  like  a  neglected  rose 
It  withers  on  the  stalk  with  languished  head. 
Beauty  is  Nature's  brag,  and  must  be  shown 
In  courts,  at  feasts,  and  high  solemnities, 
Where  most  may  wonder  at  the  workmanship. 
It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  home  ; 
They  had  their  name  thence  :  coarse  complexions 


\ 


40  COMUS. 

And  cheeks  of  sorry  grain  will  serve  to  ply  750 

The  sampler,  and  to  tease  the  huswife's  wool. 

What  need  a  vermeil-tinctured  lip  for  that, 

Love-darting  eyes,  or  tresses  like  the  morn  ? 

There  was  another  meaning  in  these  gifts  ; 

Think  what,  and  be  advised  ;  you  are  but  young  yet. 

Lady.     I  had  not  thought  to  have  unlocked  my  lips 
In  this  unhallowed  air,  but  that  this  juggler 
Would  think  to  charm  my  judgment,  as  mine  eyes. 
Obtruding  false  rules  pranked  in  reason's  garb. 
I  hate  when  vice  can  bolt  her  arguments  760 

And  virtue  has  no  tongue  to  check  her  pride. 
Impostor !  do  not  charge  most  innocent  Nature, 
As  if  she  would  her  children  should  be  riotous 
With  her  abundance.     She,  good  cateress. 
Means  her  provision  only  to  the  good. 
That  live  according  to  her  sober  laws. 
And  holy  dictate  of  spare  Temperance. 
If  every  just  man  that  now  pines  with  want 
Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share 
Of  that  which  lewdly-pampered  Luxury  770 

Now  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess, 
Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well  dispensed 
In  unsuperfluous  even  proportion. 
And  she  no  whit  encumbered  with  her  store ; 
And  then  the  Giver  would  be  better  thanked. 
His  praise  due  paid  :  for  swinish  gluttony 
Ne'er  looks  to  Heaven  amidst  his  gorgeous  feast, 
But  with  besotted  base  ingratitude 
Crams,  and  blasphemes  his  Feeder.     Shall  I  go  on .? 
Or  have  I  said  enow  ?     To  him  that  dares  780 


COMUS.  41 

Arm  his  profane  tongue  with  contemptuous  words 

Against  the  sim-clad  power  of  chastity 

Fain  would  I  something  say  ;  —  yet  to  what  end  ? 

Thou  hast  nor  ear,  nor  soul,  to  apprehend 

The  sublime  notion  and  high  mystery 

That  must  be  uttered  to  unfold  the  sage 

And  serious  doctrine  of  Virginity  ; 

And  thou  art  worthy  that  thou  shouldst  not  know 

More  happiness  than  this  thy  present  lot. 

Enjoy  your  dear  wit,  and  gay  rhetoric,  790 

That  hath  so  well  been  taught  her  dazzling  fence ; 

Thou  art  not  fit  to  hear  thyself  convinced. 

Yet,  should  I  try,  the  uncontrolled  worth 

Of  this  pure  cause  would  kindle  my  rapt  spirits 

To  such  a  flame  of  sacred  vehemence 

That  dumb  things  would  be  moved  to  sympathise. 

And  the  brute  Earth  would* lend  her  nerves,  and  shake. 

Till  all  thy  magic  structures,  reared  so  high, 

Were  shattered  into  heaps  o'er  thy  false  head. 

Comus.     She  fables  not.     I  feel  that  I  do  fear       800 
Her  words  set  off  by  some  superior  power ; 
And,  though  uot  mortal,  yet  a  cold  shuddering  dew 
Dips  me  all  o'er,  as  when  the  wrath  of  Jove 
Speaks  thunder  and  the  chains  of  Erebus 
To  some  of  Saturn's  crew.     I  must  dissemble. 
And  try  her  yet  more  strongly.  —  Come,  no  more ! 
This  is  mere  moral  babble,  and  direct 
Against  the  canon  laws  of  our  foundation. 
I  must  not  suffer  this  ;  yet  't  is  but  the  lees 
And  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood.  810 

But  this  will  cure  all  straight ;  one  sip  of  this 


42  COMUS. 

Will  bathe  the  drooping  spirits  in  delight 
Beyond  the  bliss  of  dreams.     Be  wise,  and  taste. 

The  Brothers  rush  in  with  swords  drawn,  wrest  his  glass  out 
of  his  hand,  and  break  it  against  the  ground :  his  rout 
7nake  sign  of  resistance,  but  are  all  driven  in.  The  Attend- 
ant Spirit  comes  in. 

Spir.     What !  have  you  let  the  false  enchanter  scape  ? 
O  ye  mistook  ;  ye  should  have  snatched  his  wand, 
And  bound  him  fast.     Without  his  rod  reversed. 
And  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power, 
We  cannot  free  the  Lady  that  sits  here 
In  stony  fetters  fixed  and  motionless. 
Yet  stay  :  be  not  disturbed  ;  now  I  bethink  me,  820 

Some  other  means  I  have  which  may  be  used, 
Which  once  of  Meliboeus  old  I  learnt. 
The  soothest  shepherd  that  e'er  piped  on  plains. 

There  is  a  gentle  Nymph  not  far  from  hence, 
That  with  moist  curb  sways  the  smooth  Severn  stream  : 
Sabrina  is  her  name  :  a  virgin  pure  ; 
Whilom  she  was  the  daughter  of  Locrine, 
That  had  the  sceptre  from  his  father  Brute. 
She,  guiltless  damsel,  flying  the  mad  pursuit 
Of  her  enraged  stepdame,  Guendolen,  830 

Commended  her  fair  innocence  to  the  flood 
That  stayed  her  flight  with  his  cross-flowing  course. 
The  water-nymphs,  that  in  the  bottom  played. 
Held  up  their  pearled  wrists,  and  took  her  in. 
Bearing  her  straight  to  aged  Nereus'  hall ; 
Who,  piteous  of  her  woes,  reared  her  lank  head, 
And  gave  her  to  his  daughters  to  imbathe 


COMUS.  43 

In  nectared  lavers  strewed  with  asphodil, 

And  through  the  porch  and  inlet  of  each  sense 

Dropt  in  ambrosial  oils,  till  she  revived,  840 

And  underwent  a  quick  immortal  change, 

Made  Goddess  of  the  river.     Still  she  retains 

Her  maiden  gentleness,  and  oft  at  eve 

Visits  the  herds  along  the  twilight  meadows. 

Helping  all  urchin  blasts,  and  ill-luck  signs 

That  the  shrewd  meddling  elf  delights  to  make. 

Which  she  with  precious  vialed  liquors  heals  : 

For  which  the  shepherds,  at  their  festivals, 

Carol  her  goodness  loud  in  rustic  lays. 

And  throw  sweet  garland  wreaths  into  her  stream       850 

Of  pansies,  pinks,  and  gaudy  daffodils. 

And,  as  the  old  swain  said,  she  can  unlock 

The  clasping  charm,  and  thaw  the  numbing  spell. 

If  she  be  right  invoked  in  warbled  song ; 

For  maidenhood  she  loves,  and  will  be  swift 

To  aid  a  virgin,  such  as  was  herself, 

In  hard-besetting  need.     This  will  I  try. 

And  add  the  power  of  some  adjuring  verse. 

Song. 
Sabrina  fair. 

Listen  where  thou  art  sitting  860 

Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  lilies  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair ; 

Listen  for  dear  honour's  sake, 
Goddess  of  the  silver  lake. 

Listen  and  save ! 


44  COMUS. 

Listen,  and  appear  to  us, 

In  name  of  great  Oceanus. 

By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace, 

And  Tethys'  grave  majestic  pace  ;  870 

By  hoary  Nereus'  wrinkled  look, 

And  the  Carpathian  wizard's  hook ; 

By  scaly  Triton's  winding  shell. 

And  old  soothsaying  Glaucus'  spell ; 

By  Leucothea's  lovely  hands. 

And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands ; 

By  Thetis'  tinsel-slippered  feet, 

And  the  songs  of  Sirens  sweet ; 

By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb. 

And  fair  Ligea's  golden  comb,  880 

Wherewith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks 

Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks  ; 

By  all  the  Nymphs  that  nightly  dance 

Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance  ; 

Rise,  rise,  and  heave  thy  rosy  head 

From  thy  coral-paven  bed. 

And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave, 

Till  thou  our  summons  answered  have. 

Listen  and  save ! 

Sabrina  rises ^  attended  by  Water-nymphs^  and  sings. 

By  the  rushy-fringM  bank,  890 

Where  grows  the  willow  and  the  osier  dank. 

My  sliding  chariot  stays, 
Thick  set  with  agate,  and  the  azurn  sheen 
Of  turkis  blue,  and  emerald  green, 

That  in  the  channel  strays ; 


COMUS.  45 

Whilst  from  off  the  waters  fleet 
Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 
O'er  the  cowsHp's  velvet  head, 

That  bends  not  as  I  tread. 
Gentle  swain,  at  thy  request  900 

I  am  here ! 

Spir.     Goddess  dear, 
We  implore  thy  powerful  hand 
To  undo  the  charmed  band 
Of  true  virgin  here  distressed 
Through  the  force  and  through  the  wile 
Of  unblessed  enchanter  vile. 

Sabr.     Shepherd,  't  is  my  office  best 
To  help  ensnared  chastity. 

Brightest  Lady,  look  on  me.  910 

Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  breast 
Drops  that  from  my  fountain  pure 
I  have  kept  of  precious  cure ; 
Thrice  upon  thy  finger's  tip. 
Thrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip  : 
Next  this  marble  venomed  seat. 
Smeared  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat, 
I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold.    / 
Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold ; 
And  I  must  haste  ere  morning  hour  920 

To  wait  in  Amphitrite's  bower. 

S  ABRINA  descends^  and  the  Lady  rises  out  of  her  seat. 

Spir.     Virgin,  daughter  of  Locrine, 
Sprung  of  old  Anchises'  line, 


46  COMUS. 

May  thy  brimmed  waves  for  this 

Their  full  tribute  never  miss 

From  a  thousand  petty  rills, 

That  tumble  down  the  snowy  hills  : 

Summer  drouth  or  singed  air 

Never  scorch  thy  tresses  fair, 

Nor  wet  October's  torrent  flood  930 

Thy  molten  crystal  fill  with  mud ; 

May  thy  billows  roll  ashore 

The  beryl  and  the  golden  ore ; 

May  thy  lofty  head  be  crowned 

With  many  a  tower  and  terrace  round, 

And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 

With  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon. 

Come,  Lady ;  while  Heaven  lends  us  grace, 
Let  us  fly  this  cursed  place. 
Lest  the  sorcerer  us  entice  940 

With  some  other  new  device. 
Not  a  waste  or  needless  sound 
Till  we  come  to  holier  ground. 
I  shall  be  your  faithful  guide 
Through  this  gloomy  covert  wide ; 
And  not  many  furlongs  thence 
Is  your  Father's  residence. 
Where  this  night  are  met  in  state 
Many  a  friend  to  gratulate 

His  wished  presence,  and  beside  950 

All  the  swains  that  there  abide 
With  jigs  and  rural  dance  resort. 
We  shall  catch  them  at  their  sport, 
And  our  sudden  coming  there 


COMUS.  47 

Will  double  all  their  mirth  and  cheer. 
Come,  let  us  haste ;  the  stars  grow  high, 
But  Night  sits  monarch  yet  in  the  mid  sky. 

The  Scene  changes^  presenting  Ludlow  Town,  and  the  Presidents 
Castle:  then  come  in  Country  Dancers;  after  them  the 
Attendant  Spirit,  with  the  two  Brothers  and  the  Lady. 

Song. 

Spir.    Back,  shepherds,  back !    Enough  your  play 
Till  next  sun-shine  holiday. 

Here  be,  without  duck  or  nod,  960 

Other  trippings  to  be  trod 
Of  lighter  toes,  and  such  court  guise 
As  Mercury  did  first  devise 
With  the  mincing  Dryades 
On  the  lawns  and  on  the  leas. 

The  second  Song  presents  them  to  their  Father  and  Mother. 

Noble  Lord  and  Lady  bright, 
I  have  brought  ye  new  delight. 
Here  behold  so  goodly  grown 
Three  fair  branches  of  your  own. 
Heaven  hath  timely  tried  their  youth,  970 

Their  faith,  their  patience,  and  their  truth. 
And  sent  them  here  through  hard  assays 
With  a  crown  of  deathless  praise. 
To  triumph  in  victorious  dance 
O'er  sensual  folly  and  intemperance. 


48  COMUS. 

The  dances  ended,  the  Spirit  epiloguizes. 

Spir.     To  the  ocean  now  I  fly, 
And  those  happy  climes  that  He 
Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 
Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky. 
There  I  suck  the  liquid  air,  980 

All  amidst  the  gardens  fair 
Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 
That  sing  about  the  golden  tree. 
Along  the  crisped  shades  and  bowers 
Revels  the  spruce  and  jocund  Spring ; 
The  Graces  and  the  rosy-bosomed  Hours 
Thither  all  their  bounties  bring. 
There  eternal  Summer  dwells  ; 
And  west  winds  with  musky  wing 
About  the  cedarn  alleys  fling  990 

Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells. 
Iris  there  with  humid  bow 
Waters  the  odorous  banks,  that  blow 
Flowers  of  more  mingled  hue 
Than  her  purfled  scarf  can  shew, 
And  drenches  with  Elysian  dew 
(List,  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true) 
Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses. 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound,  1000 

In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground 
Sadly  sits  the  Assyrian  queen. 
But  far  above,  in  spangled  sheen. 
Celestial  Cupid,  her  famed  son,  advanced 


COM  us.  49 

Holds  his  dear  Psyche,  sweet  entranced 

After  her  wandering  labours  long, 

Till  free  consent  the  gods  among 

Make  her  his  eternal  bride. 

And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 

Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born,  loio 

Youth  and  Joy  ;  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 

But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done : 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run, 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end. 
Where  the  bowed  welkin  slow  doth  bend, 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon. 
Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue  ;  she  alone  is  free. 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  climb  1020 

Higher  than  the  sphery  chime ; 
Or,  if  Virtue  feeble  were, 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her. 


LYCIDAS. 

In  this  Monody  the  Author  bewails  a  learned  Friend,  unfortunately  drowned 
in  his  passage  from  Chester  on  the  Irish  Seas,  1637 ;  and,  by  occasion, 
foretells  the  ruin  of  our  corrupted  Clergy,  then  in  their  height. 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more, 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 

I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 

And  with  forced  fingers  rude 

Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 

Bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear 

Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due ; 

For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 

Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 

Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?  he  knew  lo 

Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 

He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 

Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind. 

Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin,  then.  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring ; 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse : 
So  may  some  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn,  20 

And  as  he  passes  turn. 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud  ! 

so 


LYCIDAS.  51 

For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill, 
Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill ; 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appeared 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  Morn, 
We  drove  a-field,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  grey-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn. 
Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 
Oft  till  the  star  that  rose  at  evening  bright  30 

Toward  heaven's  descent  had  sloped  his  westering  wheel. 
Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute ; 
Tempered  to  the  oaten  flute. 

Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long ; 
And  old  Damcetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 

But,  oh  !  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone  and  never  must  return ! 
Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods  and  desert  caves, 
With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'ergrown,        40 
And  all  their  echoes,  mourn. 
The  willows,  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 
As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose. 
Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze. 
Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear, 
When  first  the  white-thorn  blows  ; 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 

Where  were  ye.  Nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep    50 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas } 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  lie, 


52  LYCIDAS. 

Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 

Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream. 

Ay  me !     I  fondly  dream 

"  Had  ye  been  there,"  ...  for  what  could  that  have  done  1 

What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore. 

The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 

Whom  universal  nature  did  lament,  60 

When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar. 

His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 

Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore } 

Alas  !  what  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd's  trade. 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse } 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use. 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade. 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair } 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise.  70 

(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days  ; 
But,  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find. 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze. 
Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears. 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     "  But  not  the  praise," 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touched  my  trembling  ears : 
"  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies,  80 

But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed. 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed." 


L  YCIDAS.  53 

O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honoured  flood, 
Smooth-sHding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal  reeds, 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood. 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  Hstens  to  the  Herald  of  the  Sea, 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea.  90 

He  asked  the  waves,  and  asked  the  felon  winds. 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doomed  this  gentle  swain  } 
And  questioned  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory. 
They  knew  not  of  his  story ; 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  strayed  : 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  played. 
It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark,  100 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next,  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow. 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge. 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge 
Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscribed  with  woe. 
"  Ah  !  who  hath  reft,"  quoth  he,  "  my  dearest  pledge }  " 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake ; 

Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain  no 

(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain). 
He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake :  — 
"  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such  as,  for  their  bellies'  sake. 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold ! 


54    •  LYCIDAS. 

Of  Other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 

Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 

And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 

Blind  mouths  !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 

A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learnt  aught  else  the  least        120 

That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs ! 

What  recks  it  them  ?    What  need  they  ?    They  are  sped : 

And,  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 

Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed, 

But,  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw. 

Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread ; 

Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 

Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said. 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door  130 

Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more." 

Return,  Alpheus  ;  the  dread  voice  is  past 
That  shrunk  thy  streams  ;  return  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades,  and  wanton  winds,  and  gushing  brooks. 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart  star  sparely  looks. 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamelled  eyes. 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honeyed  showers,       140 
And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 
Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 
The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine. 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  jet. 
The  glowing  violet. 
The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  woodbine. 


L  YCIDAS.  55 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears ; 

Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 

And  daffadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears,  i5p 

To  strew  the  laureate  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so,  to  interpose  a  little  ease. 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise. 

Ay  me !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 

Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurled ; 

Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 

Where  thou  perhaps  under  the  whelming  tide 

Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world  ; 

Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 

Sleep' St  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old,  i6o 

Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 

Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold. 

Look  homeward.  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth : 

And,  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  more. 
For  Lycidas,  your  sorrow,  is  not  dead. 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor. 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed. 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore        170 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high. 
Through  the  dear  might  of  Him  that  walked  the  waves, 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along, 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves. 
And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song. 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 


56  LYCIDAS. 

There  entertain  him  all  the  Saints  above, 

In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies. 

That  sing,  and  singing  in  their  glory  move,  i8o 

And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 

Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more ; 

Henceforth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore. 

In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 

To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills. 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  grey : 
He  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills. 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay : 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the  hills,  190 

And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay. 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new. 


NOTES 


ABBREVIATIONS    USED    IN    THE    NOTES. 

Abbott,  Abbott's  Shakespearian  Grammar  (1888) ;  C,  Comus ;  Cent. 
Diet.,  The  Century  Dictionary  ;  Class.  Diet.,  —  any  good  Classical  Dic- 
tionary will  serve,  but  perhaps  Gayley's  Classic  Myths  will  best  suit  the 
needs  of  secondary  students;  F.  Q.,  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene ;  II  P.,  II 
Penseroso  ;  UAL,  V Allegro  ;  Lye,  Lycidas  ;  Nat.,  On  the  Morning  of 
Christ^ s  Nativity;  New  Eng.  Diet.,  The  New  English  Dictionary  ;  P. 
L.,  Paradise  Lost ;  P.  P.,  Paradise  Regained ;  P.  of  L.,  Shakspere's 
Pape  of  Lucrece ;  S.  A.,  Samson  Agonistes ;  Schmidt,  Schmidt's  Shakes- 
peare-Lexicon (1886);  Stand.  Diet.,  The  Standard  Dictionary ;  V.  and 
A.,  Shakspere's  Venus  and  Adonis.  The  following  abbreviations  of  the 
names  of  Shakspere's  plays  will  be  easily  understood  :  A.  V.  L.,  Cor., 
Cymb.,  Ham.,  Hen.  V.,  2  Hen.  VI.,  3  Hen.  VI.,  Hen.  VIII,  Lear,  L.  L. 
L.,  Macb.,  M.  N  D.,  M.  of  V,  Much  Ado,  M.  W.,  0th.,  R.  and  /., 
Pick.  II,  Rich.  Ill,  T.  A.,  Temp.,  T.  G.  of  V,  T.  N,  T  of  S.,  W.  T. 
The  references  to  Shakspere's  works  are  all  to  the  "  Globe  "  edition ; 
those  to  Milton's  works  are  to  Masson's  "  Library  Edition." 


NOTES 


L'ALLEGRO. 

L* Allegro  and  II  Penseroso,  owing  to  their  close  relation  in  form 
and  matter,  should  be  read  together.  Although  they  were  not  printed 
until  1645,  they  seem  to  have  been  written  much  earlier,  probably  about 
1632  or  1633,  at  Horton,  where  Milton  had  retired  from  Cambridge  after 
taking  his  M.A.  degree.  The  titles  are  from  the  Italian,  and  imply 
"  the  cheerful  man  "  and  "the  thoughtful  man."  Much  discussion  has 
arisen  among  editors  and  critics  as  to  the  import  of  these  poems,  which 
the  want  of  space  prevents  us  from  considering.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
will  be  best  for  the  student  to  work  out  his  own  theory  of  the  matter, 
and  then  correct  and  supplement  it  by  consulting  the  Introduction  to 
this  and  the  standard  editions.  Milton,  in  the  composition  of  these 
poems,  seems  to  have  been  indebted  for  a  few  slight  hints  and  sugges- 
tions, in  addition  to  those  pointed  out  in  the  notes,  to  some  verses 
entitled  The  Author's  Abstract  of  Melancholy ,  prefixed  to  Burton's 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  and  to  a  song  beginning  "  Hence,  all  you  vain 
delights,"  in  Fletcher's  play  of  The  Nice  Valour. 

1  2.  Cerberus.  Who  was  Cerberus  .'•  In  classical  mythology  Erebus 
was  the  spouse  of  Night,  but  Milton,  in  order  to  have  Melancholy  inspire 
horror  and  repulsion,  invented  the  present  genealogy. 

1  3.  Stygian  cave.  The  den  of  Cerberus  was  on  the  further  bank 
of  the  Styx,  the  chief  river  of  the  nether  wprld,  and  in  front  of  it  were 
landed  all  the  shades  ferried  over  by  Charon.  Browne  takes  Stygian 
here  In  the  sense  of  "  detested."  For  Styx,  cf  P.  L.  ii.  577  ;  also 
Stygian  darkness,   C.  132. 

1  4.  Shapes.  Cf  II  P.  6,  C.  207.  When  we  note  the  indefiniteness 
of  the  images  in  this  line,  we  recall  that  marvelous  description  of  Death 
in  P.  L.  ii.  666-673,  and  Coleridge's  remark  in  his  Lectures  and  Notes 
on  Shakspere  (Bohn  ed.),  p.  91  :  "The  grandest  efforts  of  poetry  are 

59 


60  NO  TES. 

where  the  imagination  is  called  forth,  not  to  produce  a  distinct  form, 
but  a  strong  working  of  the  mind,  still  offering  what  is  still  repelled, 
and  again  creating  what  is  again  rejected  ;  the  result  being  what  the 
poet  wishes  to  impress,  namely,  the  substitution  of  a  sublime  feeling 
of  the  unimaginable  for  a  mere  image."  In  the  present  line  the  allitera- 
tion is  also  suggestive. 

1  5.  Uncouth.  Radically  it  means  "  not  known,  not  familiar,  strange, 
and  hence  perplexing,  filling  the  soul  with  dismal  apprehensions " 
(Schmidt)  ;  elsewhere  {Lye.  i86,  F.  L.  v.  98,  vi.  362)  Milton  seems  to 
have  had  in  mind  both  the  radical  and  the  derived  meanings  of  the 
word.     For  the  latter,  see  Cent.  Diet. 

1  6.  Brooding.  If  taken  literally,  with  an  allusion  in  jealous  wings 
to  "  the  watch  which  fowls  keep  when  they  are  sitting  "  (Warburton), 
we  should  expect  her  instead  of  his,  but  brooding  rather  means  "  over- 
shadowing," and  his  is  then  accounted  for  by  supposing  that  Milton  had 
in  mind  the  classical  Erebus  (Hales).     Of  what  is  Darkness  jealous  ? 

1  7.  Night-raven.  Probably  the  ill-omened  raven  is  meant,  al- 
though it  is  not  a  night  bird.     Cf.  Much  Ado  ii.  3.  84. 

1  9.  Ragged.  Rugged,  uneven.  Though  used  but  once  in  Milton's 
poetry,  the  word  is  elsewhere  not  infrequently  found  as  an  epithet  for 
rocks ;  cf.  Isaiah  ii.  21,  T.  G.  of  V.  i.  2.  121,  etc. 

1  10.  Cimmerian  desert.  "  She  [the  ship]  came  to  the  limits  of  the 
world,  to  the  deep-flowing  Oceanus.  There  is  the  land  and  the  city  of 
the  Cimmerians,  shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  never  does  the  shining 
sun  look  down  on  them  with  his  rays,  neither  when  he  climbs  up  the 
starry  heavens,  nor  when  again  he  turns  earthward  from  the  firmament, 
but  deadly  night  is  outspread  over  miserable  mortals."  —  Odyssey  xi. 
13-19  (Butcher  and  Lang).  They  were  "  known  afterwards  as  a  histor- 
ical people,  figuring  round  and  near  the  Black  Sea  (whence  the  name 
Crimea)  "  (Masson).  Dark  is  added  for  emphasis.  What  means  has 
Milton  employed  in  the  first  ten  lines  to  give  us  such  a  repugnant  picture 
of  Melancholy.? 

1  11.  Fair  and  free.  Almost  a  set  phrase  among  poets  to  denote 
beauty  and  grace  in  women.  In  this  case,  however,  free  may  mean 
"free  from  care  ";  cf  i^,  also  0th.  iii.  3.  340.  Why  do  we  have  a  dif- 
ferent meter  here  ? 

1  12.     Yclept.     Called;    see    Lounsbury,  Hist,   of  Eng.  Lang.,  pp. 

387-390- 

1  15.  Two  sister  Graces.  See  Class.  Diet,  for  the  names  and  attri- 
butes of  the  three  Graces.     The  parentage  here  (14-16)  given  is  found 


NOTES.  61 

in  a  comment  by  Servius  on  ^neid  i.  720  (Keightley),  while  the  one 
that  follows  (17-24)  is,  perhaps,  Milton's  own  invention. 

1  16.    Ivy-crowned  Bacchus.     See  Class.  Diet. ;  cf.  C.  54-55. 

1  17.  Or  whether,  etc.  Note  the  change  in  construction  here,  — 
rather  frequent  in  Milton. 

As  some  sager  sing.  If,  as  seems  probable,  this  alternative  gene- 
alogy is  the  invention  of  Milton,  the  present  phrase  seems  to  be  a 
device  for  modestly  recommending  it  to  others,  —  at  any  rate  no  one 
has  yet  discovered  who  these  sager  poets  are.     How  do  you  parse  sager  ? 

1  18.     Frolic.     Frolicsome ;  cf.  C.  59.     Breathes  is  used  transitively. 

1  20.  A-Maying.  For  the  explanation  of  this  form,  consult  the 
New  Eng.  Diet.,  s.v.  A,  prep.  This  is  one  of  the  many  allusions  in 
English  prose  and  poetry  to  the  May  festivities,  for  an  account  of 
which  see  Chambers,  Book  of  Days. 

2  22.     Fresh-blown  roses,  etc.     Cf.  T.  of  S.  ii.  i.  174. 

2  24.  Buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair.  Distinguish ;  note  word  ori- 
gins. Observe  the  different  arrangement  of  the  words  in  Thomas 
Randolph's  Aristippus  (1635):  ''To  make  one  blithe,  buxome,  and 
deboneer  "  (quoted  by  Todd). 

2  26-28.  Jest,  etc.  Consult  a  good  dictionary  and  write  a  note  on 
these  lines,  explaining  Milton's  nice  distinctions.  WreathM  is  a  trans- 
ferred epithet  ;  wanton  here  means  "  playful."  Look  up  etymology  of 
wanton. 

2  28.  Nods  and  becks,  etc.  Do  you  suppose  Milton  thought  out 
this  combination,  or  did  he  remember  the  line  quoted  by  Warton  from 
Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  ?  "  With  becks,  and  nods,  and  smiles 
again." 

2  29.     Hebe.     See  Class.  Diet.  ;  cf.  C.  290. 

2  31.     Derides.     Subject? 

2  32.  Laughter,  etc.  Addison  thought  this  "  a  very  poetical  figure 
of  laughter  "  ;  cf.  Cymb.  i.  6.  68-69. 

2  33.  Come,  and  trip  it,  etc.  Cf.  Temp.iw.  i.  44-47,  C.  143-144, 
960-962  ;  contrast  //  P.  t^j  et  seq.  Fantastic,  because  the  movements 
of  the  dance  are  to  be  whimsical  and  capricious.  How  many  different 
functions  has  the  pronoun  /'/,  and  which  one  of  these  is  here  illustrated  .-* 

2  36.  Mountain-nymph.  "  I  suppose  Liberty  is  called  the  mountain 
nymph,  because  the  people  in  mountainous  countries  have  generally 
preserved  their  liberties  longest,  as  the  Britons  formerly  in  Wales,  and 
the  inhabitants  in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland  at  this  day"  (Newton). 
"  Or  does  he  refer  to  the  absence  of  conventional  restraints  and  general 


62  NOTES. 

sense  of  unconfinement  that  belong  to  mountains  ?  "  (Hales).  Or  does 
he,  as  Warton  thought,  merely  mean  to  call  Liberty  an  Oread,  a  nymph 
of  mountains  and  grottos  ?  If  the  last,  the  poet  is  again  modifying 
ancient  mythology  to  suit  his  pleasure,  for,  as  Hales  reminds  us,  "  No 
such  nymph  is  found  amongst  the  acknowledged  Oreads  and  Oro- 
demniads  of  the  Greeks."     Why  in  thy  right  hand? 

2  38.  Crew.  Milton  uses  this  word  twenty-one  times  in  his  poems, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  its  use  in  this  line,  always  in  a  bad  sense. 
Cf.  C.  653,  805,  F.  L.  i.  51,  477.  688,  751,  etc. 

2  40.  UnreprovM.  Unreprovable ;  cf.  C.  395,  793,  and  see  Abbott, 
§  375.  The  arrangement  of  the  adjectives  in  this  line  is  imitated  from 
the  Greek,  and  is  a  common  device  in  Milton.  Make  a  list  of  the 
examples  found  in  the  poems  in  this  volume,  and  try  to  ascertain 
the  force  of  the  final  adjective  in  each  case. 

2-3  41-68.  "  This  passage,"  says  Trent,  "...  describes  by  a  series 
of  exquisite  though  unelaborated  pictures  the  pleasures  of  a  cheerful 
man  abroad  early  on  a  delightful  morning.  It  is  plain  .  .  .  that  Milton 
is  describing  an  ideal  day,  rather  than  one  belonging  to  a  particular 
season.  Minute  critics  have  succeeded  in  showing  that  some  of  the 
pictures  are  not  entirely  true  to  nature  ;  but  they  waste  their  time, 
for  Milton  has  surely  imbibed  nature's  spirit,  and  his  poem  lives,  as  all 
true  poetry  does,  by  the  spirit  rather  than  by  the  letter."  But  is  it 
best  to  cloak  these  faults  .'*  Is  it  not  better  to  say  that  Milton's  work 
has  lived  in  spite  of,  rather  than  because  of,  them  ?  The  highest  art 
assuredly  excludes  them,  and  in  Milton's  finest  passages  there  are  no 
blemishes  of  any  sort. 

2-3  41-44,  57-76.  With  these  lines  Van  Dyke  compares  the  last 
seventeen  lines  of  the  fourth  stanza  of  Tennyson's  Ode  to  Memory, 
and  observes :  "  Here  are  the  same  breadth  of  vision,  delicacy  of 
touch,  atmospheric  effect  ;  the  same  sensitiveness  to  the  simplest 
variations  of  light  and  sound ;  the  same  power  to  shed  over  the  quiet 
scenery  of  the  English  country  the  light  of  an  ideal  beauty.  It  is  an 
art  far  beyond  that  of  the  landscape  painter,  and  all  the  more  perfect 
because  so  well  concealed."  —  Poetry  of  Tennyson  (sec.  ed.),  p.  62. 

2  42.  The  dull  night.  Cf.  Hen.  V.  iv.  i.  11.  One  editor  notes 
that  II  Penseroso  could  not  have  used  the  epithet  dull  so  appropriately 
as  L' Allegro.     Why  not  ? 

2  43.  From  his  watch-tower.  "  The  lark  sees  the  dawn  sooner 
than  the  dull  night  which  grovels  on  the  earth,  because  he  is  high  up  in 
his  *  watchtower '  "  (Elton).     Is  -tower  one  or  two  syllables  here  .? 


NOTES.  63 

2  44.  The  dappled  dawn.  Cf.  Much  Ado  v.  3.  25-27.  Pronounce 
dappled. 

2  45.  Then  to  come,  etc.  This  passage  is  obscure,  (i)  It  may 
mean  that  the  lark  is  to  come  to  L' Allegro's  window  and  bid  him 
"  good-morrow."  In  this  case  we  must  make  to  come  and  <5/t/ depend  on 
to  hear  (41),  and  suppose  that  the  unusual  to  before  come  is  made  nec- 
essary by  the  distance  between  it  and  the  governing  verb.  But  such 
a  construction  is  awkward.  The  interpretation,  moreover,  forces  us  to 
make  the  phrase  in  spite  of  sorrow  almost  meaningless  by  applying  it  to 
the  lark  ;  it  makes  it  difficult  to  account  for  L' Allegro  seeing  the  per- 
formance of  the  cock  described  below  (51-52)  ;  and,  finally,  obliges  us 
to  suppose  Milton  ignorant  of  the  lark's  habits,  since  the  bird  never 
approaches  human  habitations,  —  an  ignorance  we  are  not  justified  in 
assurning  if  the  passage  can  be  explained  in  some  other  way.  (2) 
Another  interpretation  makes  to  come  and  bid  depend  on  admit  (38). 
"  Awakened  by  the  lark,  the  poet,  after  listening  to  that  early  song, 
arises  to  give  a  blithe  good-morrow  at  his  window.  Other  matin 
sounds  are  heard,  and  he  goes  forth,"  etc.  (Browne).  Those  who 
adopt  this  view  explain  that  he  bids  "  good-morrow  "  to  "  the  rising 
morn,"  "the  new  day,"  or  "the  world  in  general."  (3)  Masson,  how- 
ever, thinks  that  L' Allegro  is  already  out  of  doors.  "  Milton,  or  who- 
ever the  imaginary  speaker  is,  asks  Mirth  to  admit  him  to  her  company 
and  that  of  the  nymph  Liberty,  and  to  let  him  enjoy  the  pleasures  nat- 
ural to  such  companionship  (38-40).  He  then  goes  on  to  specify  such 
pleasures,  or  to  give  examples  of  them.  The  first  (41-44)  is  that  of  the 
sensations  of  early  morning,  when,  walking  round  a  country  cottage, 
one  hears  the  song  of  the  mounting  skylark,  welcoming  the  signs  of 
sunrise.  The  second  is  that  of  coming  to  the  cottage  window,  looking 
in,  and  bidding  a  cheerful  good-morrow,  through  the  sweet-briar,  vine, 
or  eglantine,  to  those  of  the  family  who  are  also  astir."  This  last 
interpretation  is  perhaps  more  in  keeping  with  the  good-hearted  socia- 
bility of  L' Allegro's  character.     But  see  Pattison,  Milton,  p.  23. 

2  45.  In  spite  of  sorrow.  Out  of  spite  towards  sorrow.  In  spite 
of  usually  means  "  notwithstanding  "  ;  see  Schmidt.  Masson  hints  at 
"  a  subtle  reference  to  some  recent  grief  that  had  been  in  the  special 
cottage  in  view." 

2  47-48.  Sweet-briar  .  .  .  eglantine.  "  As  these  are  now,  with 
strict  botanists,  names  for  the  same  plant  [Rosa  rubigenosci),  Warton 
supposes  that  by '  the  twisted  eglantine  '  Milton  meant  the  honeysuckle  ; 
Mr.  Keightley,  more  accurately,  suggests  the  dog-rose  {Rosa  canina). 


64  NOTES. 

.  .  .  Popularly,  several  of  the  smaller-flowered  kinds  of  wild-rose, 
besides  the  sweet-briar,  are  still  called  eglantine "  (Masson).  "  A 
close  observer  of  things  around  us  would  not  speak  of  the  eglantine 
as  twisted  "  (Pattison). 

2  50.  Scatters  the  rear,  etc.  Name  and  explain  the  figure.  What 
does  M/«  limit  ? 

3  52.  Stoutly  struts,  etc.  What  does  Milton  try  to  effect  by  the 
rhythm  of  this  line.''     Contrast  with  that  of  1.  51. 

3  53.  Oft  listening,  etc.  The  bounds  of  the  poet's  pleasures  now 
begin  to  enlarge.     Pronounce  listenings  slumbering  (54). 

3  55.  Some  hoar  hill.  Can  you  think  of  more  than  one  meaning 
for  the  epithet  hoa7-  ? 

3  56.  The  high  wood.  Explain.  LI.  55-56  •'  may  mean  either  that 
the  music  of  hound  and  horn  echoes  shrill  through  the  high  wood  on 
the  hillside,  or  that  the  huntsmen  and  dogs  begin  on  the  hillside  and 
then  go  *  echoing  '  through  the  '  high  wood.'  .  .  .  The  latter  interpre- 
tation seems  the  more  poetical,  as  the  elements  of  time  and  motion  are 
introduced  ;  it  also  throws  an  ictus  on  *  high '  that  improves  the  verse 
metrically  "  (Trent). 

3  57.  Walking,  not  unseen.  "  Happy  men  love  witnesses  of  their 
joy  :  the  splenetic  love  solitude  "  (Hurd,  quoted  by  Todd).  Contrast 
//  P.  65.  Browne  reminds  us  that  "  Some  particulars  of  the  following 
description  of  morning  are  taken  from  Browne's  Britannia's  Pastorals 
(Book  IV,  V.  75)." 

3  59.  The  eastern  gate.  Cf.  M.  N.  D.  iii.  2.  391.  Right  against, 
etc.,  modifies  walking,  and  implies  that  L' Allegro  has  his  course  directed 
toward  the  rising  sun.  Elton  comments  on  "  the  magnificent  sound  " 
of  11.  59-62.  "  Milton  once  or  twice  in  these  two  poems,"  he  says, 
"  seems  to  quit  the  tone  of  gracious  fantasy  which  he  has  laid  down 
for  them,  and  to  '  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string.'  But  the  fanciful 
word  *  liveries  '  brings  him  back  again." 

3  60.  His  state.  "  His  stately  progress  "  (Keightley),  referring  of 
course  to  the  gorgeousness  of   the  spectacle. 

3  62.  In  thousand  liveries  dight.  "  Liveries  seems  to  be  plainly 
used  of  the  clouds  because  they  are  regarded  as  servants  or  attendants 
of  the  sun,  not  because  of  the  various  hues  displayed  "  (Trent).  Look 
up  the  history  of  the  word,  and  cf.  M.  of  V.  ii.  i .  2.  Dight,  arrayed.  Cf 
II  P.  1 59.     Explain  the  figure  in  thousand. 

3  65-68.  And  the  milkmaid,  etc.  What  do  you  notice  about  the 
movement  of  these  lines?     How  is  this  effect  secured.'' 


NOTES.  65 

3  67.  Tells  his  tale.  Counts  the  number  of  his  sheep  (Warton,  on 
the  suggestion  of  Headley).  For  tell  meaning  "count,"  and  tale  mean- 
ing "  number,"  see  Psalm  xlviii.  I2,  Exodus  v.  8,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  when  tell  and  tale  are  combined,  as  in  the  present  passage, 
"the  almost  invariable  meaning  is  to  narrate  something"  (Keightley). 
In  view  of  this  last  fact,  tells  his  tale  is  also  interpreted  as  "  relates  his 
story,"  —  tale  being  taken  either  in  the  general  sense  of  "  any  story  " 
or  in  the  particular  sense  of  "  a  love-tale."  "  But  (i)  this  [particular 
sense]  would  be  a  somewhat  abrupt  use  of  the  word  tale.  (2)  The 
every  shows  that  some  piece  of  business  is  meant.  (3)  The  context 
too  shows  that.  (4)  The  early  dawn  is  scarcely  the  time  for  love- 
making.  Some  of  these  objections,  but  not  all,  are  obviated  by  tak- 
ing tale  in  a  general  sense  "  (Hales).  Do  you  think  of  any  modern 
uses  of  the  words  tell  and  tale  which  help  to  explain  the  passage  ? 

3  69.  Straight.  Straightway.  These  new  pleasures  belong  to  a 
later  hour  than  those  described  in  the  preceding  lines.  Of  11.  69-80 
Palgrave  writes  :  "  This  is  perhaps  as  near  a  landscape  in  words  —  and 
those  words  always  the  words  —  as  one  can  find  anywhere  :  Nature  by 
herself,  no  sympathy  with  man  suggested ;  Yet  note  how  the  one  final 
imaginative  phrase  in  its  utter  loveliness  transports  us  at  once  within 
the  sphere  of  human  feeling."  —  See  Landscape  in  Poetry^  pp  158-159. 

3  70.  Landskip.  The  first  and  second  editions  have  lantskip 
(Masson).  Read  this  line  so  as  to  show  the  antecedent  of  //. 
What  does  round  limit  ? 

3  71.  Russet  lawns,  etc.  "  Lawn  now  commonly  means  a  stretch 
of  green  grass  in  front  of  a  mansion ;  but  the  epithet  *  russet '  (reddish) 
shows  that  Milton  .  .  .  understood  it  rather  in  its  original  sense  of 
land  or  laund,  any  open  space,  even  if  moory.  .  .  .  A  fallow  is  a  piece 
of  ploughed  land  left  unsown"  (Masson).  Verity  has  a  long  note  in 
which  he  tries  to  show  that  russet  lawns  and  fallows  grey  "  mean 
much  the  same  thing,  and  that  Milton  is  thinking  of  the  *  ash-coloured ' 
appearance  presented  by  a  hill-side  where  the  grass  is  short  and  poor 
of  quality."  With  what  are  lawns,  fallows,  mountains,  etc.,  in 
apposition  ? 

3  73.  Mountains.  See  Milton'' s  Poetical  Works  (Masson),  Vol.  I.  pp. 
132-133,  for  a  splendid  comment  on  the  visionary  scenery  of  VAl.  and 
//  P.  There  are  no  mountains  in  the  vicinity  of  Horton,  where  Milton 
probably  wrote  these  poems. 

3  74.     Labouring  clouds.     Why  the  epithet  .? 

3  75.     Meadows  trim,  etc.     For  trim,  cf.  II  P.  50,  C.  120  ;  for  daisies 


66  NOTES. 

pied^  see  the  fine  lines  in  L.  L.  L.  v.  2.  904-907.  Note  the  position  of 
the  adjectives  in  11.  71,  75,  76,  126,  etc. 

3  77.  Towers  and  battlements.  These,  says  Masson,  "  are  almost 
evidently  Windsor  Castle." 

3  79.     Lies.     Lodges,  dwells  ;  cf.  Cor.  i.  9.  82. 

3  80.  Cynosure.  An  object  to  which  all  eyes  are  turned  ;  a  meta- 
phorical meaning.  The  word  (which  literally  means  "  dog's  tail," 
Kvvh%  ovpa)  was  anciently  applied  to  that  part  of  the  Lesser  Bear  which 
contains  the  pole-star,  because  it  was  then  thought  that  constellation 
resembled  a  dog.  It  was  by  this  constellation  that  the  Phoenician 
mariners  steered  their  course,  while  the  Greek  mariners  steered  by  the 
Greater  Bear.     Cf.  C.  341-342. 

4  83-88.  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  .  .  .  Phillis  .  .  .  Thestylis.  Names 
of  frequent  occurrences  in  pastoral  poetry,  here  applied,  somewhat  incon- 
gruously perhaps,  to  English  rustics.  Note  the  time  of  day  indicated 
in  these  lines. 

4  89.  If  the  earlier  season  lead.  Lead  is  probably  used  intransi- 
tively.    SAe  goes  may  be  understood  with  1.  90. 

4  90.     Tanned  haycock.     Why  tanned? 

4  91.  Secure.  Not  "  safe,"  but  "  free  from  care  "  (Latin  securus). 
Browne  quotes  Ben  Jonson,  Epode :  "  Men  may  securely  sin,  but  safely 
never."  Here,  as  in  1.  69,  the  scene  is  shifted  and  a  new  paragraph 
begun. 

4  92.  Upland  hamlets.  "Little  villages  among  the  slopes,  away 
from  the  river-meadows  and  the  haymaking"  (Masson).  Contrast 
towered  cities,  117. 

4  94.  Rebeck.  "A  loud  and  harsh  lute-shaped  medieval  musical 
instrument,  the  earliest  form  of  the  violin,  with  one,  two,  or  three 
strings,  and  played  with  a  bow  "  {Stand.  Diet).  For  some  interesting 
facts  about  the  instrument,  see  Verity.  It  may  be  worth  noting  that 
Shakspere  calls  one  of  the  musicians  in  R.  and  J.  (iv.  5.  135)  Hugh 
Rebeck.     What  is  really y<7c«;/flr.? 

4  96.     Chequered  shade.     Explain;  cf.  T.  A.  ii.  3.  15. 

4  97.     Come.     What  part  of  the  verb .? 

4  98.     Sunshine  holiday.     Cf.  C.  959. 

4  100.  Spicy  nut-brown  ale.  Hales  thinks  with  Warton  that  this  is 
the  "  gossips'  bowl  "  of  Shakspere  (cf  M.  N.  D.  ii.  i.  47),  a  drink  made 
up  of  "  ale,  nutmeg,  sugar,  toast,  and  roasted  crabs  or  apples." 

4  102.  Mab.  See  the  description  of  her  in  R.  and  f.  i.  4.  53-95  ; 
also  the  one  in  Ben  Jonson's  The  Satyr,   funkets,  sweetmeats,  dainties. 


NOTES.  67 

Originally  the  word  (from  Ital.  guincatd)  meant  **  a  cream  cheese,"  so 
called  because  it  was  served  on  rushes  (Ital.  guinea,  a  rush).  "  Of 
course  Queen  Mab  eat  the  junkets  to  punish  the  inmates  of  the  house 
for  untidiness  "  (Verity). 

4  103.  She.  One  of  the  persons  telling  stories.  She  relates  an 
experience  she  has  had  with  the  fairies,  who  pinched  and  pulled  her, 
it  may  be,  for  untidy  work. 

4  104.  And  he,  etc.  And  he,  i.e.,  the  one  who  had  once  been  led  by 
the  Friar's  lantern,  tells  how,  etc.  A  second  interpretation  connects  1. 
104  with  1.  103  :  She  said  she  was  pinched  and  pulled,  and  he  said  he 
was  led  by  Friar's  lantern.  L.  105  would  then  begin  a  new  story,  the 
verb  tells  having  for  its  subject  he  understood.  Browne  suggests  "  a 
colon  at  led  and  would  read  Tales  for  Tells  in  line  105,  thus  carrying 
on  the  sense  from  stories  (line  loi)  to  tales  (line  105)."  If  the  reading 
in  the  second  edition.  And  by  the  Friar's  lantern  led,  were  adopted, 
the  speaker  throughout  would  be  the  same,  i.e.,  she  in  1.  103.  The 
latter  is  defended  by  Verity ;  to  me,  however,  the  first  interpretation 
seems  the  most  natural. 

4  104.  Friar's  lantern.  Keightley,  followed  by  several  editors, 
charges  Milton  with  having  confused  two  different  spirits ;  Friar  Rush, 
the  house-spirit,  and  Will-o'-the-Wisp  or  Jack-o'-the-Lanthorn,  the  field- 
spirit.  But  Verity  says  :  "  It  is  possible  however  that  Milton  is  not 
referring  to  either  spirit,  but  that  friar  of  1.  104  is  identical  with  the 
goblin  {i.e.,  Robin  Goodfellow)  of  1.  105.  For  two  reasons  :  (i)  friar 
was  a  title  of  Robin  Goodfellow.  .  .  .  (ii)  The  trick  of  misleading 
with  a  false  light  was  not  confined  to  Jack-o'-the-Lanthorn." 

4  105.  Drudging  goblin.  Robin  Goodfellow,  the  Puck  of  Shakspere. 
A  comparison  of  Milton's  lines  with  Shakspere's  description  of  Puck 
in  M.  N.  D.  ii.  i.  42-57,  however,  will  show  that  the  two  poets  had 
quite  different  conceptions  of  the  sprite.  For  an  extended  account  of 
the  pranks  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  consult  Keightley,  Fairy  Mythology, 
or  Brand,  Popular  Antiquities  of  Great  Britain. 

4  111.     Chimney.     Fireplace. 

4  113.     Crop-full.     With  full  stomach  ;  see  106.     Flings,  dashes. 

5  114.     Matin.     Cf  P.  L.  v.  7. 

5  115.     To  bed  they  creep.     Why  creep  ? 

5  117.  Towered  cities  please  us  then.  "  The  rest  of  the  poem,  from 
this  point  onward,  may  be  taken  as  describing  the  evening  reveries, 
readings,  and  other  recreations,  of  the  imaginary  youth  in  his  country- 
cottage,  after  his  morning's  walk  and    afternoon    among  the  rustics. 


68  NOTES. 

The  word  then  in  this  line,  as  elsewhere  in  the  poem,  does  important 
duty  "  (Masson).  But  Hales  says  :  "then  (not  when  the  tales  are  over 
and  the  tellers  in  bed,  but)  =  at  some  other  time.  He  is  not  describ- 
ing one  long  day,  but  the  pleasure  which  one  day  or  another  might 
entertain  L' Allegro."  Verity  follows  Hales,  and  supposes  that  L' Allegro 
"actually  takes  part  in  these  gay  meetings  and  festivities"  (i  17-134). 
For  a  good  defense  of  Masson's  interpretation,  however,  see  Trent. 
Note  the  new  turns  given  the  thought  in  11.  131  and  135. 

5  120.  Weeds.  Garments ;  the  original  meaning  of  the  word.  Cf.  C. 
16,  189,  390.  Triumphs,  "a  public  festivity  or  exhibition  of  any  kind, 
particularly  a  tournament  "  (Schmidt).  In  Bacon's  Essay  Of  Masques 
and  Triumphs,  there  is  the  following  treatment  of  triumphs:  "  For  justs, 
and  tourneys,  and  barriers,  the  glories  of  them  are  chiefly  in  the  chariots, 
wherein  the  challengers  make  their  entry,  especially  if  they  be  drawn 
with  strange  beasts,  as  lions,  bears,  camels,  and  the  like  ;  or,  in  the 
devices  of  their  entrance,  or  in  bravery  of  their  liveries,  or  in  the  goodly 
furniture  of  their  horses  and  armour." 

5  121.     Store  of.     Plenty  of,  many. 

5  122.  Rain  influence.  Influence  here  refers  to  the  astrological 
belief  that  the  stars  have  an  occult  power  over  the  affairs  of  men ;  in 
this  case,  of  course,  the  eyes  of  the  ladies  are  compared  to  stars.  Cf. 
Nat.  71.     Explain  the  construction  in  122-123. 

5  125.  Hymen.  Warton  refers  to  Ben  Jonson's  Masque,  Zf^yw^w^/; 
"  On  the  other  hand,  entered  Hymen  (the  god  of  marriage)  in  a  saffron- 
colour'd  robe,  his  under  vestures  white,  his  socks  yellow,  a  yellow  veil 
of  silk  on  his  left  arm,  his  head  crowned  with  roses  and  marjoram,  in 
his  right  hand  a  torch  of  pine-tree."     See  last  scene  of  A.  V.  L. 

5  127.  Pomp.  "A  festival  procession  "  (Schmidt).  Revelry ;  Wm- 
sheu  defines  revels  as  "  sports  of  dauncing,  masking,  comedies,  tragedies, 
and  such  like,  used  in  the  king's  house,  the  houses  of  court,  or  of  other 
great  personages  "  (quoted  by  Todd). 

5  128.    With  mask  and  antique  pageantry.     Explain. 

5  130.     Haunted.     "  By  the  water-nymphs  "  (Verity). 

5  131-134.  Then  to  the  well-trod  stage,  etc.  "  In  those  days  Milton 
had  no  more  of  the  Puritanic  aversion  to  the  theatre  .  .  .  than  to  the 
pomps  and  solemnities  of  cathedral  ritual."  —  Garnett,  i7////^w,  p.  45. 
Cfll  P.  155-166. 

5  132.  Jonson's  learned  sock.  The  sock  (Latin  soccus,  the  low-heeled 
shoe  or  slipper  worn  by  comic  actors  in  the  ancient  Greek  and  Roman 
drama)  is  here  used  for  "  comedy,"  just  as  the  buskined  stage  (the  buskin 


NOTES.  69 

was  the  high-heeled  boot  worn  by  ancient  tragic  actors)  is  used  in  //  P. 
(102)  for  "tragedy."  At  the  time  VAl.  was  written,  Jonson  was  poet 
laureate,  and  had  finished  most  of  the  work  which  entitled  him  to  his 
high  rank  among  the  giants  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  No  characteristic 
is  so  generally  accorded  to  him  as  that  of  learning,  and  hence  Milton's 
adjective  is  as  appropriate  as  Chaucer's  "moral  Gower  "  {Trollies  v. 
1856).  What  the  poet  says  of  Shakspere,  however,  is  not  so  well  put. 
It  is  all  well  enough  to  speak  of  the  man  as  sweetest  Shakespeare^  for  he 
was  both  the  gentlest  and  the  sweetest  of  mankind,  and,  taking  Fancy 
in  the  larger  meaning  it  then  had,  even  Fancy's  child  may  be  admitted, 
but  to  characterize  Shakspere's  comedies  (I  see  no  reason  for  suppos- 
ing that  Milton  is  referring  to  only  a  part  of  them)  as  "  native  wood- 
notes  wild,"  is  to  accord  to  him  praise  that  is  altogether  inadequate. 
Despite  what  has  been  said  by  critics  in  favor  of  the  present  passage, 
and  despite  the  lines  On  Shakespeare  (1630),  in  which  he  praises 
principally  the  dramatist's  spontaneity,  both  his  sneer  at  Charles  I. 
for  reading  Shakspere  (see  Eikonoklastes)  and  his  Preface  to  S.  A. 
justify  us  in  doubting  whether  Milton  at  any  time  in  his  life  actually 
appreciated  the  real  greatness  of  Shakspere. 

Milton's   lines    On   Shakespeare.,  which   should   be    compared  with 
Jonson's  tributes  in  the  First  Folio  and   Timber.,  are  as  follows : 

"  What  needs  my  Shakespeare  for  his  honoured  bones 
The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  ? 
Or  that  his  hallowed  reliques  should  be  hid 
Under  a  star-ypointing  pyramid  ? 
Dear  son  of  memory,  great  heir  of  fame, 
What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name  ? 
Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 
Hast  built  thyself  a  livelong  monument. 
For  whilst,  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art, 
Thy  easy  numbers  flow,  and  that  each  heart 
Hath  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book 
Those  Delphic  lines  with  deep  impression  took. 
Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving, 
Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving, 
And  so  sepulchred  in  such  pomp  dost  lie 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die." 

5  135.  Eating  cares.  Cf.  Horace's  mordaces  sollicitudines  {Odes  i. 
18.  4)  and  curas  edaces  {Odes  ii.  11.  18).  Contrast  11.  135-150  with  II  P. 
161-166. 


70  NOTES. 

5  136.  Lydian  airs.  Music  now  takes  the  place  of  reading,  and  it  is 
quite  natural  that  L' Allegro  should  prefer  the  soft  Lydian  airs  to  the 
Dorian  or  the  Phrygian.     For  the  Dorian  mood,  see  P.  L.  i.  550-559. 

5  137.  Married  to  immortal  verse.  Cf.  the  opening  lines  oi  At  a 
Solemn  Music  ;  also  C.  516.  The  present  passage  is  one  among  many 
in  Milton's  poems  where  music  is  "  married  to  immortal  verse." 

5  139.  Bout.  Bend,  turn ;  sometimes  used  of  a  serpent's  coils. 
How  is  the  word  now  used  ?  On  this  and  the  following  line,  see  Cole- 
ridge, Lectures  and  Notes  on  Shakspere  (Bohn  ed.),  p.  49,  Gamett, 
Milton,  p.  156  et  seq. 

5  141.  With  wanton  heed,  etc.  '  The  adjectives  describe  the 
appearance,  the  nouns  the  reality"  (Browne).  The  figure  is  an  oxy- 
moron ;  consult  a  dictionary  and  explain. 

5  142.     Melting  voice.     Why  the  epithet  ? 

5  144.  The  hidden  soul,  etc.  "  In  every  soul  —  indeed  in  all 
creation —  there  is  harmony,  but  for  the  most  part  it  lies  imprisoned  and 
bound,  so  that  it  cannot  be  heard.  The  sweetness  of  the  music  described 
in  the  text  is  to  be  such  that  it  shall  set  free  this  prisoner,  and  make  its 
voice  audible  "  (Hales). 

6  145.  Orpheus.  For  the  beautiful  legend  of  Orpheus  and  Eurydice, 
see  Class.  Diet.     Cf.  II  P.  105-108,  Lye.  58-63,  P.  L.  vii.  34-37- 

6  146.     Golden  slumber.     Why  is  the  epithet  so  effective  ? 

6  147.  Elysian  flowers.  Cf.  P.  L.  iii.  359.  Where  did  ancient 
mythology  locate  the  Elysian  fields  ?  Which  of  these  places  best 
suits  the  present  passage? 

6  149.  To  have  quite  set  free.  Why  quite  ?  "  In  our  older  English 
writers,  as  in  our  modern  colloquial  language,  the  perfect  infinitive  is 
used  to  express  a  result  or  a  purpose  which  has  not  been  attained  " 
(Hales). 

6  151-152.  These  delights,  etc.  Cf  the  last  two  lines  of  Marlowe's 
exquisite  lyric.  The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  His  Love  : 

"  If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love." 

Read  Marlowe's  poem,  together  with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  answer  to 
the  same,  called  The  Nymph's  Reply. 


NOTES.  71 


IL   PENSEROSO. 


7  1.  Hence,  etc.  Milton  may  have  remembered  the  following  lines 
from  Sylvester,   Tragedie  of  Henry  the  Great : 

"  Hence,  hence,  false  Pleasures,  momentary  Joyes  : 
Mock  us  no  more  with  your  illuding  Toyes." 

7  2.  Without  father.  "  And  therefore  '  all  mother,'  as  we  say,  or 
pure  folly"  (Rolfe).     Cf.  the  parentage  given  Melancholy  in  UAL 

7  3.  Bested.  Bestead,  help,  avail  ;  cf.  Shakspere's  use  of  stead,  R. 
and  J.  ii.  3.  54. 

7  4.  FixM  mind.  Cf  P.  L.  i.  c)y;  F.  Q.iv.  7.  16:  "  Yet  nothing 
could  my  fixed  mind  remove."      Toys,  trifles. 

7  5.  Idle  brain.  O^^^osed  to  fxed  mind,  dhoyQ.  /<://<?  is  here  used 
in  its  original  sense  of  "  empty  "  (A.  S.  idel)  ;  cf  the  use  of  the  word  in 
that  fine  Old  English  poem,  The  Wanderer,  Sy :  "  eald  ^nta  geweorc 
Idlu  stodon." 

7  6.  Fond.  Foolish ;  the  meaning  most  common  in  Shakspere. 
See  Schmidt  ;  cf.  C.  6j,  Lye.  56,  S.  A.^12,  etc. 

7  7.  As  thick,  etc.  Cf  Chaucer,  Canterbury  Tales,  D.  868  :  "  As 
thikke  as  motes  in  the  sonne-beem." 

7  9.     Likest.     Explain  the  force  of  likest ;  cf  C.  237. 

7  10.  Pensioners.  Retinue  ;  this  metaphorical  use  was  given  cur- 
rency, if  it  was  not,  as  Warton  suggests,  originated  by  Queen  EHzabeth's 
establishment  of  a  select  guard  called  Pensioners.  Cf.  M.  N.  D.  ii.  i . 
10,  M.  W.  ii.  2.  79.     For  Morpheus,  see  Class.  Diet. 

7  12.  Melancholy.  Here  the  word  stands  for  "  pensive  contem- 
plation." 

7  14.     To  hit.     To  meet,  to  agree  with. 

7  15.     Our  weaker  view.     Cf  Exodus  xxxiv.  29-35. 

7  18.  Prince  Memnon's  sister.  Milton  may  refer  to  Hemera,  men- 
tioned by  Dictys  Cretensis,  De  Bello  Trojano,  lib.  vi.  c.  10.  As 
Odysseus  describes  Eurypylus  as  the  comeliest  man  he  ever  saw, 
next  to  goodly  Memnon  (kuvov  87]  KdWia-rov  (dov  (lerk  M^fivova  diov, 
Odys.  xi.  522),  the  poet  probably  supposes  that  Memnon's  sister, 
although  we  are  nowhere  so  told,  was  no  less  beautiful. 

7  19.  Starred  Ethiop  queen.  Cassiope,  wife  of  Cepheus,  and 
mother  of  Andromeda.  In  consequence  of  her  boast  (another  story  has 
it  that  she  claimed  her  daughter  was  fairer  than  the  Nereids),  the  nymphs 


72  NOTES. 

sent  a  sea-monster  to  ravage  the  coast  of  Ethiopia,  and  Andromeda  was 
about  to  be  sacrificed  to  this  monster  when  she  was  rescued  by  Perseus. 
As  Cassiope  was  afterwards  placed  among  the  stars,  Milton  uses  the 
epithet  starred.     See  Class.  Did.  ;  read  Charles  Kingsley's  Andromeda. 

7  23.  Bright-haired  Vesta.  Milton  again  invents  a  genealogy  to 
suit  his  own  purposes.  He  perhaps  regards  Saturn  as  the  type  of 
Solitude,  and  Vesta  as  the  type  of  Chastity,  thus  making  Melancholy 
the  daughter  of  Chastity  and  Solitude.  Warton,  however,  identifies 
Vesta  with  Genius,  and  Browne  supposes  that  Vesta,  or  Hestia,  the 
goddess  of  the  hearth,  is  here  the  symbol  of  Retirement,  while  Saturn, 
the  promoter  of  civilization,  represents  Culture.  For  Saturn,  see  Class. 
Diet..,  and  by  all  means  read  at  least  the  opening  lines  of  Keats's  Hype- 
rion,—  a  poem  which  Shelley  (Preface  to  Adonais)  considered  "as 
second  to  nothing  that  was  ever  produced  by  a  writer  of  the  same 
years." 

8  29.  Woody  Ida.  Probably  the  mountain  of  that  name  in  the 
island  of  Crete  is  meant.     Cf.  P.  L.  \.  515. 

8  30.  No  fear  of  Jove.  Jupiter  led  in  the  dethronement  of  his 
father.  See  Class.  Diet.  ;  also  on  C.  20.  What  is  the  force  of  yet  in 
this  line  ?     What  other  meanings  has  it  ? 

8  32.  Demure.  See  the  first  of  the  two  meanings  in  Stand.  Diet. 
Contrast  this  line  with  VAl.  24. 

8  33.  All  in  a  robe,  etc.  All  may  be  either  an  adjective  or  an  ad- 
verb. Grain,  dye,  color,  not  texture  ;  perhaps  the  color  intended  is  dark 
purple.  For  a  lengthy  discussion  of  grain,  see  Marsh,  Lectures  on  the 
English  Language  (First  Series),  and  Masson's  note  to  P.  L.  v.  285. 
Cf.   C.  750,  P.  L.  xi.  242. 

8  35.  Stole  of  cypress  lawn.  Stole,  veil  or  hood  (as  in  F.  Q.\.  i . 
4)  ;  note  the  stota,  or  long,  flowing  robe  of  the  Roman  lady.  Cypress 
lawn,  crape;  but  the  words  are  usually  distinguished,  as  in  W.  T.  iv. 
4.  220-221. 

8  36.  Decent.  Probably  the  word  here  means  "  comely,"  "  hand- 
some," though  Warton  (quoted  by  Todd)  explains  it  as  "  Not  exposed, 
therefore  decent ;  more  especially,  as  so  covered."  In  the  Deserted 
Village,  12,  Goldsmith  has  :  "  The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neigh- 
bouring hill." 

8  37.  Thy  wonted  state.  State,  dignity  of  deportment.  Warton 
quotes  Ben  Jonson,  Cynthia^ s  Revels,  v.  3  : 

"  Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 
State  in  wonted  manner  keep." 


NOTES.  73 

8  39.     Commercing.     Having  intercourse ;  perhaps,  communing. 

8  42.  Forget  thyself  to  marble.  See  the  lines  On  Shakespeare, 
quoted  in  note  to  UAL  132.  "In  both  instances,  excess  of  thought 
is  the  cause  "  (Warton,  quoted  by  Todd). 

8  43.  Sad  leaden  downward  cast.  Sad,  grave,  serious  ;  cf.  C.  189. 
"  Leaden-coloured  eye-sockets  betoken  melancholy,  or  excess  of  thought- 
fulness  "  (Masson)  ;  Verity  interprets  leaden  as  "  gloomy  "  and  Trent 
thinks  it  refers  "  not  to  color  .  .  .  but  to  weight  or  heaviness."  Verity 
compares  Sylvester,  Du  Bartas  (Grosart,  i.  155): 

"  That  swallow-fac't,  sad,  stooping  Nymph,  whose  eye 
Still  on  the  ground  is  fixed  stedfastly." 

8  44.     As  fast.    That  is,  as  fast  as  they  were  before  fixed  on  the  skies. 
8  46-48.     Spare  Fast,  etc.     Cf.  Milton's  Elegia  Sexta  55-66.     Here 
is  Masson's  translation: 

"  Ay,  but  whoso  will  tell  of  wars  and  the  world  at  its  grandest, 

Heroes  of  pious  worth,  demigod  leaders  of  men. 
Singing  now  of  the  holy  decrees  of  the  great  gods  above  us. 

Now  of  the  realms  deep  down,  guarded  by  bark  of  the  dog. 
Sparely  let  such  an  one  still,  in  the  way  of  the  Samian  master, 

Live,  and  let  homely  herbs  furnish  his  simple  repast ; 
Near  him,  in  beechen  bowl,  be  only  the  crystal-clear  water ; 

Sober  draughts  let  him  drink,  fetched  from  the  innocent  spring ; 
Added  to  this  be  a  youth  of  conduct  chaste  and  reproachless. 

Morals  rigidly  strict,  hands  without  sign  of  a  stain : 
All  as  when  thou,  white-robed,  and  lustrous  with  waters  of  cleansing, 

Risest,  augur,  erect,  fronting  the  frown  of  the  gods." 

The  idea  which  pervades  these  lines  Masson  calls  "  an  eminently  Mil- 
tonic  idea,  perhaps  pre-eminently  the  Miltonic  idea."  He  cites  C. 
783-789  and  a  famous  passage  in  the  prose  Apology  for  Smectymnuus, 
where  it  occurs  again. 

8  47.  Muses.  For  the  names  and  the  attributes  of  the  nine  Muses, 
see  Class.  Diet. 

8  50.  Trim  gardens.  Cf  VAl.  75  ;  also  C.  375-380.  "  Mr.  Warton 
here  observes,  that  affectation  and  false  elegance  were  now  carried  to 
the  most  elaborate  and  absurd  excess  in  gardening"  (Todd).  At  this 
day  we  prefer  the  sort  of  gardens  described  in  P.  L.  iv.  241-246, 
where 


74  NOTES. 

"  not  nice  Art 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  Nature  boon 
Poured  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain, 
Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 
The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 
Imbrowned  the  noontide  bowers." 

8  52.  Golden  wing.  (^  C.  214,  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant  57.  Verity 
reminds  us  that  Sylvester  had  previously  applied  the  epithet  to  Sleep 
(Grosart,  i.  143). 

8  54.  The  Cherub  Contemplation.  See  Ezekiel  x.  (also  i.),  and  P.  L. 
vi.  749-759.  As  Verity  remarks,  "It  is  well  to  remember  two  things: 
(i)  Cherub  .  .  .  means  a  single  member  of  the  cherubim.  .  .  .  (ii)  When 
Milton  applies  to  the  Cherub  the  title  Contemplation  ...  he  is  referring 
to  the  mediaeval  conception  of  the  Hierarchies.  .  .  .  According  to  it 
each  of  the  Orders  or  Choirs  into  which  the  heavenly  beings  were  divided 
had  a  special  power,  and  the  faculty  peculiar  to  the  Cherubim  was  that 
of  *  Knowledge  and  Contemplation  of  divine  things.'  .  .  .  Milton  took 
the  mediaeval  belief  and  grafted  it  on  to  the  narrative  of  Ezekiel."  The 
meter  requires  five  syllables  for  Contemplation  ;  see  Browne's  Notes  on 
Shakspere'' s  Versification  (Ginn  &  Company),  third  edition,  p.  18,  an 
excellent  little  pamphlet  to  use  as  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  versi- 
fication. See  Modern  Language  Notes,  Vol.  XIV.  pp.  78-79,  for  a  sum- 
mary of  Professor  Tolman's  paper  on  "  The  Poetic  Value  of  Long  Words." 

8  55.  The  mute  Silence  hist  along.  That  is,  bid  the  mute  Silence 
come  along  by  whispering  hist.  Hist,  originally  an  onomatopoeic  inter- 
jection used  to  enforce  silence,  is  here  probably  an  imperative,  although 
Skeat  takes  it  as  a  past  participle,  i.e.,  "  bring  along  with  thee  the  mute, 
hushed  Silence."  Masson  paraphrases  :  "  Move  through  the  mute  Silence 
hushingly,  or  saying  Hush  ! — i.e.,  telling  the  Silence  to  continue  —  unless 
the  nightingale  shall  choose  to  break  it  by  one  of  her  songs."  As  Silence 
is  personified,  there  is  no  tautology  in  adding  the  epithet  mute.  Read 
Tennyson's  Reticence,  Alfred  Lord  Tennyson,  Vol.  II.  pp.  87-88. 

8  56.  *Less  Philomel,  etc.  Unless  the  nightingale  will  grant  a  song. 
For  the  story  of  Philomela,  see  Class.  Diet.,  and  for  the  finest  of  all  the 
tributes  in  the  English  language  to  the  nightingale,  read  Keats's  Ode  to 
a  Nightingale. 

8  57.     Plight.     Define. 

9  58.    Smoothing,  etc.     C/".  C.  251. 

9  59.  Cynthia.  See  Class.  Diet.;  in  ancient  mythology  it  was  Ceres 
whose  chariot  was  drawn  by  dragons. 


NOTES.  75 

9  60.     The  accustomed  oak.     Explain. 

9  61.  Sweet  bird,  etc.  See  Milton's  sonnet  to  the  nightingale,  C. 
234,  566,  P.  L.  iii.  38,  iv.  602,  771,  vii.  435.  Coleridge,  in  his  To  the 
Nightingale^  quoted  1.  62. 

9  63-72.  Thee,  chauntress,  etc.  After  quoting  VAl.  69-80  and  //  P. 
63-72,  Palgrave  observes  :  "  What  we  gain  from  Milton,  as  these  speci- 
mens in  his  very  purest  vein  —  his  essence  of  landscape  —  illustrate,  is 
the  immense  enlargement,  the  finer  proportions,  the  greater  scope,  of  his 
scenes  from  Nature.  And  with  this  we  have  that  exquisite  style,  always 
noble,  always  music  itself  —  Mozart  without  notes — in  which  Milton  is 
one  of  the  few  very  greatest  masters  in  all  literature  :  in  company  —  at 
least  it  pleases  me  to  fancy — with  Homer  and  Sophocles,  with  Vergil, 
with  Dante,  with  Tennyson." — See  Landscape  in  Poetry,  pp.  158-159. 

9  64.     Even-song.     Contrast  Z'^/.  114. 

9  65.  Unseen.  Contrast  VAL  57.  From  the  fact  that  unseen  is  neg- 
atived in  UAl.^  some  have  supposed  that  //  P.  may  have  been  written 
first.  The  probability  is,  however,  that  the  two  poems  were  conceived  at 
the  same  time  and  written  in  their  present  order.  After  quoting  11.  65- 
94,  Blair  says:  "Here  there  are  no  unmeaning  general  expressions; 
all  is  particular,  all  is  picturesque  ;  nothing  forced  or  exaggerated  ;  but 
a  simple  style,  and  a  collection  of  strong  expressive  images,  which  are 
all  of  one  class,  and  recall  a  number  of  similar  ideas  of  the  melancholy 
kind :  .  .  .  We  may  observe,  too,  the  conciseness  of  the  poet's  manner. 
He  does  not  rest  long  on  one  circumstance,  or  employ  a  great  many 
words  to  describe  it ;  which  always  makes  the  impression  faint  and 
languid  ;  but  placing  it  in  one  strong  point  of  view,  full  and  clear  before 
the  reader,  he  then  leaves  it."  —  Hugh  Blair,  Lectures  o?t  Rhetoric  and 
Belles  Lettres,  Lecture  xl. 

9  67.  The  wandering  moon.  Keightley  cites  Horace,  Sat.  i.  8.  21 : 
vaga  luna,  and  Virgil,  ^n.  i.  742  :  errantem  lunajn.  If  Shakspere  were 
living  at  this  hour,  he  might  find  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  the 
fact  that  he  did  not  know  much  Latin.  At  any  rate,  no  one  thinks  of 
accusing  him  of  borrowing  his  wandering  moon  {cf.  AI.  N.  D.  iv.  i.  102  ; 
also  ii.  I.  6-7)  from  Virgil  or  Horace.  See  what  Stedman  says  about 
imaginative  diction.  Nature  and  Elements  of  Poetry,  p.  240  et  seq. 

9  68.    Her  highest  noon.     Explain. 

9  72.     Stooping,  etc.     What  optical  illusion  is  referred  to  ? 

9  74.  Curfew.  "  A  regulation  in  force  in  mediaeval  Europe  by  which 
at  a  fixed  hour  in  the  evening,  indicated  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  fires 
were  to  be  covered  over  or  extinguished;  .  .  .  Hence,  the  practice  of 


76  NOTES. 

ringing  a  bell  at  a  fixed  hour  in  the  evening,  usually  eight  or  nine  o'clock, 
continued  after  the  original  purpose  was  obsolete,  and  often  used  as  a 
signal  in  connection  with  various  municipal  or  communal  regulations ; 
the  practice  of  ringing  the  evening  bell  still  survives  in  many  towns  " 
{New  Eng.  Diet.).     Look  up  etymology  of  word.     See  on  Lye.  154. 

9  75.  Some  wide-watered  shore.  Explain.  We  have  here  one  of 
Milton's  finest  double  epithets,  the  construction  and  use  of  which  is 
common  in  his  early  poems.  *'  In  Comus,  which  has  a  few  more  than 
a  thousand  lines,  there  are  fifty-four  double  epithets ;  in  V Allegro  there 
are  sixteen  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  lines  ;  in  //  Penseroso  there  are  eleven 
to  one  hundred  and  seventy  lines."  —  Van  Dyke,  Poetry  of  Tennyson  (sec- 
ond edition),  p.  64.  Coleridge,  who  was  of  the  opinion  that  there  is  a 
superfluity  of  double  epithets  in  the  early  poetry  of  both  Shakspere  and 
Milton,  gave  the  following  rule  for  their  admission :  "  either  that  they 
should  be  already  denizens  of  our  language,  such  as  blood-stained,  terror- 
strieken,  self-applauding  ;  or  when  a  new  epithet,  or  one  found  in  books 
only,  is  hazarded,  that  it,  at  least,  be  one  word,  not  two  words  made  one 
by  mere  virtue  of  the  printer's  hyphen.  ...  If  a  writer,  every  time  a  com- 
pounded word  suggests  itself  to  him,  would  seek  for  some  other  mode  of 
expressing  the  same  sense,  the  chances  are  always  greatly  in  favour  of 
his  finding  a  better  word."  —  Biographia  Literaria  (Bohn  ed.),  p.  2,  note. 

9  76.  Swinging  slow,  etc.  What  poetic  effect  do  you  notice  in 
this  line } 

9  77.  Or,  if  the  air,  etc.  In  VAl.  the  evening  indoors  did  not  begin 
until  1.  117. 

9  78.     Removed.     Remote;  cf  Ham.  i.  4.  61. 

9  80.  Teach  light,  etc.  A  gloom  which  only  Rembrandt  could 
paint.  Cf.  the  famous  passage  in  P.  L.  i.  62-64,  and  the  hardly  less 
famous  one  in  i^  ^.  i.  i.  14 : 

"  But  forth  unto  the  darksom  hole  he  went, 
And  looked  in :  his  glistring  armor  made 
A  little  glooming  light,  much  like  a  shade." 

9  82.  The  cricket  on  the  hearth.  A  line  made  famous  by  Dickens. 
It  is  now  no  uncommon  thing  for  an  author  to  find  a  title  for  his  book 
in  some  odd  phrase  of  the  old  poets  ;  Mr.  Howells,  for  instance,  found 
one  in  Lye.  188. 

9  83.  The  bellman's  drowsy  charm.  The  bellman  was  a  night 
watchman  who  went  his  round  ringing  a  bell  and  crying  the  time,  the 


NOTES.  77 

weather,  and  so  on.     Some  idea  of  the  drowsy  charm  may  be  had  from 
Herrick's  poem  in  the  Hesperides  (Grosart,  ii.  28)  : 

"  From  noise  of  Scare-fires  rest  ye  free, 
From  Murders  Benedicitie, 
From  all  mischances,  that  may  fright 
Your  pleasing  slumbers  in  the  night : 
Mercie  secure  ye  all,  and  keep 
The  Goblin  from  ye,  while  ye  sleep. 
Past  one  aclock,  and  almost  two. 
My  Masters  all,  Good  day  to  youP 

9  84.     Nightly.     "  During  the  night,  not  night  by  night  "  (Hales). 

9  85.  Or  let  my  lamp,  etc.  Here  II  Penseroso  passes  to  the  study  of 
literature,  — philosophy  (88-96),  tragedy  (97-102),  lyric  poetry  (103-108), 
and  romance  (109-120).  Compare  L' Allegro's  reading.  This  passage 
has  been  a  good  deal  admired,  because  the  poet  imagines  some  far-off 
observer  catching  sight  of  the  light  gleaming  from  II  Penseroso's  tower. 

9  87.  Outwatch  the  Bear.  "  The  Great  Bear  does  not  set  below  the 
horizon  in  northern  latitudes,  and  only  vanishes  on  account  of  the  day- 
light "  (Bell).  Tennyson  makes  use  of  the  same  idea  in  his  Princess,  iv. 
194-195: 

"  I  paced  the  terrace,  till  the  Bear  had  wheel'd 
Thro'  a  great  arc  his  seven  slow  suns." 

9  88.  Thrice  great  Hermes.  Hermes  Trismegistus  {i.e.,  thrice  great- 
,est)  was  the  Egyptian  Thoth,  identified  by  the  Greeks  with  their  god 

Hermes  or  Mercury.  He  was  regarded  as  the  originator  of  Egyptian 
art,  science,  magic,  alchemy,  and  religion,  and  the  works  attributed  to 
him,  but  really  written  by  the  Neoplatonists  of  the  fourth  century  of 
our  era,  were  much  studied.  Read  Longfellow's  Hermes  Trismegistus. 
9-10  88-89.  Unsphere  the  spirit  of  Plato.  Draw  down  the  spirit  of 
Plato  from  the  sphere  in  which  it  now  dwells,  or,  to  discard  the  figure, 
find  out  by  intense  study  the  doctrine  embodied  in  Plato's  works.  The 
particular  allusion  is  to  the  Phado  and  those  other  portions  of  Plato's 
works  where  the  doctrine  of  immortality  is  treated.    See  on  85  ;  ^  C.  2-4. 

10  90.  What  worlds,  etc.  "Are  not  vast  regions  included  in 
world?''''  (Landor). 

10  93.  And  of  those  demons,  etc.  Explain  the  zeugma.  What 
must  be  understood  after  And?  As  Keightley  has  observed,  Plato 
speaks  of  the  intelligences  which  he  calls  daimona,  but  the  assignment 


78  NOTES. 

to  them  of  their  abodes  in  the  four  elements  over  which  they  had  power 
belongs  to  the  later  Platonists  and  to  the  writers  of  the  middle  ages. 

10  95.     Consent.     "  Sympathetic  connexion  "  (Masson). 

10  98.  Sceptred  pall.  Either  "royal  robe"  or  "with  sceptre  g^nd 
with  pall"  (Hales). 

10  99-100.  Presenting  Thebes,  etc.  Milton  here  mentions  the  chief 
themes  of  Attic  tragedy,  having  in  mind  particularly  the  dramas  of 
^schylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides.  For  Thebes,  etc.,  see  Class.  Diet., 
and  for  ^schylus,  etc.,  consult  some  good  history  of  Greek  literature 

—  Mahaffy's,  if  at  hand.  Presenting,  representing  ;  so  frequently  in 
Shakspere. 

10  101-102.  Or  what,  etc.  In  view  of  Milton's  aversion  to  the 
romantic  drama  (see  preface  to  S.  A.),  it  may  be  that  he  has  in  mind 
here  the  tragedies  of  Ben  Jonson,  although  it  is  to  be  hoped,  as  most 
editors  think,  that  he  includes  those  of  Shakspere.  For  buskined,  see 
on  VAl.  132. 

10  104.  Musaeus.  A  mythical  poet  of  Thrace,  and  according  to 
some  legends  the  son  of  Orpheus.  See  Class.  Diet.  "  It  is  always  to  the 
poets  of  a  primitive  age,  the  bards,  that  [Milton]  compares  himself  — 
to  Homer,  Tiresias,  and  the  Hebrew  prophets.  Orpheus  and  Musaeus 
are  the  poets  he  would  best  like  to  see  before  him  in  his  pensive  hours. 
Now  in  those  primitive  times  the  poet  was  almost  an  officer  of  the 
state ;  he  was  regarded  with  reverence,  and  classed  with  the  priest  or 
diviner.  He  sang  in  the  halls  of  Grecian  princes,  and  stirred  up  the 
warriors  to  emulate  the  great  deeds  of  their  fathers.  In  Palestine  he 
assumed  a  still  greater  elevation,  and,  mixing  the  praises  of  virtue  with 
exalted  conceptions  of  God  and  of  the  national  vocation,  became  what 
we  call  a  prophet.     This  was  the  ideal  of  poetry  which  suited  Milton." 

—  Professor  Seeley,  Maeniillan's  Magazine,  Vol.  XIX.  p.  410.  See 
Pattison,  Milton,  pp.  183-184. 

10  106.    Warbled  to  the  string.     Cf.  Arcades  Sy. 

10  107.     Iron  tears.     Explain. 

10  109.  Him  that  left  half-told.  Chaucer,  who  left  TAe  Squire's 
Tale  unfinished.  The  characters  and  incidents  mentioned  in  the  follow- 
ing lines  should  be  traced  in  the  story  itself  and  in  Spenser's  continu- 
ation of  it  {F.  Q.  iv.  2-3). 

10  110.  Cambuscan.  Milton  gives  a  wrong  accentuation  to  this 
word. 

10  113.  Virtuous.  "Powerful,  efficacious  by  inherent  qualities" 
(Schmidt).     C/.  C.  165,  621.     For  the  properties  of  the  ring,  see  The 


NOTES.  79 

Squire's  Tale  {Skeat,  Student's  Chaucer)  146-155;  for  \\i&  glass,  132- 
141  ;  for  the  horse  of  brass,  115-131  ;  and  for  the  sword,  which  Milton 
does  not  mention,  156-167. 

10  116.  If  aught  else.  "Whatever  else";  "a  Latinism"  (Bell). 
Great  bards  ;  Spenser,  first  of  all,  and  then,  perhaps,  Boiardo,  Ariosto, 
and  Tasso. 

11  120.  Where  more  is  meant,  etc.  That  is,  where  there  is  an  alle- 
gorical meaning,  as  in  the  F.  Q.  In  Milton's  time  allegory  was  still 
highly  prized,  but  now,  although  it  is  occasionally  practised,  as,  for 
instance,  in  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King^  it  is  not  so  much  thought  of. 
The  modern  point  of  view  is  well  expressed  by  Lowell,  when  he  says 
that  allegory  "reverses  the  true  office  of  poetry  by  making  the  real  un- 
real. It  is  imagination  endeavoring  to  recommend  itself  to  the  under- 
standing by  means  of  cuts."  —  Works  (Houghton),  Vol.  III.  p.  362. 
"  The  true  type  of  the  allegory  is  the  Odyssey,  which  we  read  without 
suspicion  as  pure  poem,  and  then  find  a  new  pleasure  in  divining  its 
double  meaning,  as  if  we  somehow  got  a  better  bargain  of  our  author 
than  he  meant  to  give  us."  —  Ibid.,  Vol.  IV.  pp.  321-322.  There  is  an 
allegory,  by  the  way,  in  Milton's  own  Comus. 

11  121.  Thus,  Night,  etc.  Landor  thought  this  verse  of  ten  sylla- 
bles "  should  be  reduced  to  the  ranks."  He  also  noted  the  rhymes  in 
119-122. 

11  122.  Civil-suited.  In  plain  civilian  dress;  cf.  R.  and  J.  iii.  2. 
lo-ii.  One  of  the  "epithets  which  designate  dresses  and  decoration  ; 
of  which  epithets,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  both  Milton  and  Shakes- 
peare are  unreasonably  fond  "  (Landor).     Contrast  VAl.  59-62. 

11  123.  Tricked.  Adorned;  ^^.Zy^.  170.  i^r£»««r^rt',  with  hair  curled 
and  plaited. 

11  124.  The  Attic  boy.  Cephalus,  who  was  loved  by  Aurora,  the 
goddess  of  dawn.     See  Class.  Diet. 

11  125.  Kerchieft.  Look  up  the  original  meaning  of  the  word,  and 
note  how  this  was  lost  thought  of  when  handkerchief  ^2^^  formed. 

11  126.  Rocking.  "  An  active  verb :  the  shrill  winds  rock  the 
•house  "   (Elton). 

11  127.     Still.     Gentle. 

11  128.  His.  Its ;  there  is  no  personification  here.  At  the  time 
Milton  wrote  this  poem,  its  was  not  yet  well  established.  Shakspere 
used  the  word  but  ten  times,  and  Milton  only  three  times  in  his  poetry 
and  rarely  in  his  prose.  In  Old  English,  or  Anglo-Saxon,  the  personal 
pronouns  were  highly  inflected,  the  following  forms  being  used  in  the 


80  '  NOTES. 

declension  of  the  singular  number  of  the  nominative  and  genitive  cases 
of  the  third  person : 


M. 

\sc. 

Neut. 

Fem. 

Nom. 

he  (he) 

hit 

heo,  hie,  hi 

Gen. 

his 

his 

hiere,  hire,  hyre 

For  a  long  time  his  was  used  for  the  genitive  of  both  the  masculine  and 
neuter  genders ;  its  was  afterwards  formed  from  the  nominative  neuter 
by  dropping  the  h  and  adding  s,  and  served  to  relieve  his  of  this  double 
service.  Throughout  Milton's  poems,  therefore,  the  student  should 
guard  against  finding  personifications  where  none  was  intended  by  the 
poet. 

11  130.     Minute-drops.     Explain. 

11  134.  Brown.  Dusky,  dark  ;  see  on  Lye.  2.  Sylvan,  Sylvanus,  a 
Latin  divinity  of  the  fields  and  forests,  whom  later  writers  identified 
with  Pan  and  other  deities. 

11135.  Monumental  oak.  Not  because  the  monuments  in  churches 
were  often  formed  of  carved  oak  (Keightley),  but  because  the  oak  is 
monumental  in  the  sense  of  "  memorial,  old,  telling  of  bygone  years  " 
(Masson).  Browne  compares  Tennyson's  Talking  Oak.  Chaucer,  and 
Spenser  after  him,  speaks  of  the  "  builder  oak."  Pattison  asks  "  if  any 
single  word  can  be  found  equal  to  *  monumental '  in  its  power  of  sug- 
gesting to  the  imagination  the  historic  oak  of  park  or  chase,  up  to  the 
knees  in  fern,  which  has  outlasted  ten  generations  of  men ;  has  been 
the  mute  witness  of  the  scenes  of  love,  treachery,  or  violence  enacted 
in  the  baronial  hall  which  it  shadows  and  protects ;  and  has  been  so 
associated  with  man  that  it  is  now  rather  a  column  and  memorial  obelisk 
than  a  tree  of  the  forest  ? "  —  Milton,  p.  24. 

11  136.     Where  the  rude  axe,  etc.     Note  the  chiasmus. 

11  140.  Profaner.  '*  Somewhat,  or  at  all  profane ;  =  profan-/j/5,  if 
there  were  such  a  word  "  (Hales). 

11  141.  Day's  garish  eye.  The  sun;  look  up  etymology  and 
meaning  oi  garish.  Cf.  C.  978,  Lye.  26,  F.  Q.  i.  3.  4  :  "  the  great  eye  of 
heaven,"  and  R.  and  J.  iii.  2.  25. 

11  142.  Honeyed  thigh.  What  does  the  bee  actually  carry  on  its 
thigh  ?     But  ef.  Lye.  140. 

11  145.     Consort.    Companionship,  or,  perhaps,  concert. 

11  146.  Dewy-feathered  Sleep.  Why  the  epithet .?  Cf.  P.  L.  iv. 
614. 


NOTES.  81 

11  147-150.  And  let  some  strange,  etc.  Of  all  the  interpretations  of 
this  difficult  passage,  Masson's  seems  the  most  reasonable  :  *' '  Let  some 
strange  mysterious  dream  wave  {i.e.  move  to  and  fro)  at  his  (j.e.  Sleep's) 
wings,  in  airy  stream,'  etc.  Wave  is  a  neuter  verb  here,  as  in  Par.  Lost, 
xii.  593."     Lively,  vivid. 

12  151.     Breathe.     What  part  of  the  verb  ? 

12  153.     To  mortals  good.     Good  to  mortals;  cf.  Lye.  184. 

12  154.  Genius  of  the  wood.  In  Arcades,  the  Genius  of  the  wood 
appears,  and  makes  a  long  speech,  in  the  course  of  which  he  explains 
his  duties. 

12  155-166.  But  let  my  due  feet,  etc.  ''  Following  his  usual  prac- 
tice Milton  has  combined  into  a  single  picture  suggestions  drawn  from 
several  sources.  .  .  .  Thus  by  selection  he  paints  an  aspect  of  the  ideal 
life  of  the  student,  whether  it  be  passed  at  the  University  or  in  the 
close  of  a  cathedral.  The  lines  show  that  in  1633  (or  1634)  Milton  was 
still  in  sympathy  with  the  ritual  of  the  Church,  though  he  did  not  care  to 
enter  its  ranks  as  a  clergyman.  But  from  the  prose  works  written  later 
on  might  be  quoted  passages  that  condemn,  directly  or  indirectly,  almost 
everything  which  he  here  approves  "  (Verity). 

12  155.     Due  feet.     Explain;  cf.  C.  12. 

12  156.  Cloister's  pale.  Enclosure  of  the  cloister ;  cloister's  hemg 
Warton's  emendation  for  cloisters.  Landor,  however,  preferred  to  keep 
the  old  reading,  and  to  take  pale  as  an  adjective,  an  interpretation  that 
can  certainly  be  defended.  The  word  order  would  then  be  one  fre- 
quently used  by  Milton,  and  the  obvious  tautology  in  cloister's  pale 
would  be  avoided.  The  latter,  though,  is  got  rid  of  in  another  way, 
by  supposing  that  Milton  had  in  mind  a  particular  cloister,  probably 
Cambridge.  "  Observe  :  only  at  this  point  of  the  poem  is  Penseroso  in 
contact  with  his  fellow-creatures.  Throughout  the  rest  he  is  solitary  " 
(Masson), 

12  157.  And  love.  And  let  me  love ;  strictly  the  subject  of  the  verb 
is  what  ?     Embowed,  arched. 

12  158.  Massy-proof.  "  Proof  against  the  mass  they  have  to  sup- 
port"  (Masson).  But  the  first  and  second  editions  have  massy  proof 
which  Bell  interprets  as  "  proof  against  the  great  weight  of  the  stone 
roof,  because  they  are  massive";  Verity  also  prints  massy  proof  and 
suggests  that  ^^ proof  may  be  a  noun  (in  apposition  to  pillars),  with  the 
general  sense  '  solidity.'  "  No  wonder  Landor  thought  the  word  "  an 
inelegant  one,  and,  if  a  compound,  compounded  badly.  It  seems  more 
applicable  to  castles,  whose  massiveness  gdiWQ  proof  oi  resistance." 


82  NOTES. 

12  159.  Storied  windows.  Windows  of  stained  glass  on  which  are 
pJttured  scenes  from  the  Bible;  cf.  C.  516.     Dight ;  see  on  VAl.  62. 

12  160.  Casting  a  dim,  etc.  "  I  question  whether  Milton  ever  saw 
any  but  the  dingy  pictures  in  the  dusty  windows  of  English  cathedrals, 
imperfectly  shown  by  the  gray  English  daylight.  He  would  else  have 
illuminated  that  word  *  dim '  with  some  epithet  that  should  not  chase 
away  the  dimness,  yet  should  make  it  glow  like  a  million  of  rubies, 
sapphires,  emeralds,  and  topazes." — Hawthorne,  Works  (Houghton), 
Vol.  VI.  p.  351.  Cf.  ibid..  Vol.  X.  p.  278.  At  the  time  //  P.  was 
written,  Milton  had  not  visited  Italy.  See  Verity's  apposite  quotation 
from  More,  Utopia. 

12  161.  The  pealing  organ.  The  favorite  instrument  of  Milton, 
and  on  which  his  father,  a  noted  musician  in  his  time,  taught  him  to 
play;  cf.  P.  L.  i.  708-709,  xi.  558-563,  Nat.  130.  In  the  latter  part  of 
his  Tract  on  Education  (1644),  he  recommends  that  the  time  of  students 
after  exercise,  and  before  and  even  after  meat,  be  taken  up  "  in  recre- 
ating and  composing  their  travailed  spirits  with  the  solemn  and  divine 
harmonies  of  music  heard  or  learned,  either  whilst  the  skilful  organist 
plies  his  grave  and  fancied  descant  in  lofty  fugues,  or  the  whole  sym- 
phony with  artful  and  unimaginable  touches  adorn  and  grace  the  well- 
studied  chords  of  some  choice  composer;  sometimes  the  lute  or  soft 
organ-stop,  waiting  on  elegant  voices  either  to  religious,  martial,  or 
civil  ditties,  which,  if  wise  men  and  prophets  be  not  extremely  out,  have 
a  great  power  over  dispositions  and  manners  to  smooth  and  make  them 
gentle  from  rustic  harshness  and  distempered  passions."  —  Morley, 
English  Prose   Writings  of  Milton.,  p.  306. 

12  164.  As  may.  Such  as  may ;  cf  Nat.  98.  For  the  thought,  see 
Vacation  Exercise  33-35. 

12  170.     Spell.     Note  the  meaning. 

12  171.     Shew.     For  pronunciation,  cf  C.  994-997. 

12  175-176.     These  pleasures,  etc.     Contrast  Z'^/.  1 51-152. 


NOTES.  83 


COMUS. 


In  order  to  appreciate  Comus,  it  is  necessary  to  know  something  of 
the  circumstances  under  which  the  masque  was  produced.  In  the 
summer  of  1631,  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater  was  made  President  of  the 
Council  of  Wales  and  Lord  Lieutenant  of  North  and  South  Wales  and 
of  the  counties  on  the  Welsh  border,  although  he  did  not  go  to  Wales, 
it  would  seem,  until  the  spring  of  1633.  In  the  fall  of  1634  he  was 
inaugurated  with  splendid  ceremonies,  and  it  was  for  this  inauguration 
that  Comus  was  written.  The  masque  was  performed  at  Ludlow  Castle 
on  Michaelmas  night,  Sept.  29,  1634,  before  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater 
and  his  invited  guests.  Three  of  the  parts  were  taken  by  the  Earl's 
children,  Lady  Alice  Edgerton  taking  the  part  of  The  Lady,  and 
Viscount  Brackley  and  Mr.  Thomas  Edgerton,  the  parts  of  The  First 
and  Second  Brothers.  The  Attendant  Spirit,  afterward  Thyrsis,  was 
played  by  Lawes,  who  wrote  the  music  for  the  occasion.  Who  took 
the  parts  of  Comus  and  Sabrina,  we  do  not  know,  although  a  good 
actor  was  needed  for  the  former  and  a  good  singer  for  the  latter. 

It  is  supposed  that  Milton  wrote  Comus  early  in  1634,  so  as  to  have 
it  ready  for  the  performance  in  the  fall  of  that  year.  Three  editions  of 
the  masque  appeared  in  the  poet's  lifetime.  The  first  of  these  was 
issued  in  1637  by  Lawes,  and  was  published  without  Milton's  name, 
although  the  motto  on  the  title  page  — 

Eheu  quid  volui  miser o  mihi!  Jloribus  Austrum 
Perdihis  ^  — 
shows  that  his  consent  to  the  publication  had  been  obtained.     Milton 
himself  published  the  poem  in  1645  ^"^^  1673.    ^"^  addition  to  this,  there 
are  two  MS.  copies,  —  one  called  the  Bridgewater  MS.,  and  the  other, 
in  Milton's  own  hand,  called  the  Cambridge  MS. 

In  the  anonymous  edition  of  1637,  there  appeared  the  following 
dedication,  which  was  reprinted  in  the  edition  of  1645,  but  omitted  in 
that  of  1673 : 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  John^  Lord  Brackley,  son  and  heir-apparent  to  the 

Earl  of  Bridge-water,  etcP 
"  My  Lord, 

"  This  Poem,  which  received  its  first  occasion  of  birth  from  yourself 
and  others  of  your  noble  family,  and  much  honour  from  your  own  person  in  the 
performance,  now  returns  again  to  make  a  final  dedication  of  itself  to  you. 

1  Virgil,  Ect.  ii.  58-59. 


84  NOTES. 

Although  not  openly  acknowledged  by  the  Author,  yet  it  is  a  legitimate  off- 
spring, so  lovely  and  so  much  desired  that  the  often  copying  of  it  hath  tired  my 
pen  to  give  my  several  friends  satisfaction,  and  brought  me  to  a  necessity  of  pro- 
ducing it  to  the  public  view,  and  now  to  offer  it  up,  in  all  rightful  devotion,  to 
those  fair  hopes  and  rare  endowments  of  your  much-promising  youth,  which  give 
a  full  assurance  to  all  that  know  you  of  a  future  excellence.  Live,  sweet  Lord, 
to  be  the  honour  of  your  name ;  and  receive  this  as  your  own  from  the  hands  of 
him  who  hath  by  many  favours  been  long  obliged  to  your  most  honoured  Parents, 
and,  as  in  this  representation  your  attendant  Thyrsis,  so  now  in  all  real  ex- 
pression 

"  Your  faithful  and  most  humble  Servant, 

«  H.  LA  WES." 

In  the  edition  of  1645,  but  omitted  from  that  of  1673,  appeared  ^^The 
Copy  of  a  Letter  written  by  Sir  Henry  Wotton  to  the  Author  upon  the 
following  Poem"  the  first  two  paragraphs  of  which  are  as  follows : 

"  From  the  College,  this  13  of  April,  1638. 

oIR, 

*'  It  was  a  special  favour  when  you  lately  bestowed  upon  me  here  the  first 
taste  of  your  acquaintance,  though  no  longer  than  to  make  me  know  that  I  wanted 
more  time  to  value  it  and  to  enjoy  it  rightly ;  and,  in  truth,  if  I  could  then  have 
imagined  your  farther  stay  in  these  parts,  which  I  understood  afterwards  by  Mr. 
H.,  I  would  have  been  bold,  in  our  vulgar  phrase,  to  mend  my  draught  (for  you 
left  me  with  an  extreme  thirst),  and  to  have  begged  your  conversation  again, 
jointly  with  your  said  learned  friend,  over  a  poor  meal  or  two,  that  we  might 
have  banded  together  some  good  Authors  of  the  ancient  time ;  among  which  I 
observed  you  to  have  been  familiar. 

"  Since  your  going,  you  have  charged  me  with  new  obligations,  both  for  a  very 
kind  letter  from  you  dated  the  6th  of  this  month,  and  for  a  dainty  piece  of  enter- 
tainment which  came  therewith.  Wherein  I  should  much  commend  the  tragical 
part,  if  the  lyrical  did  not  ravish  me  with  a  certain  Doric  delicacy  in  your  Songs 
and  Odes,  whereunto  I  must  plainly  confess  to  have  seen  yet  nothing  parallel  in 
our  language  :  Ipsa  mollities.  But  I  must  not  omit  to  tell  you  that  I  now  only 
owe  you  thanks  for  intimating  unto  me  (how  modestly  soever)  the  true  artificer. 
For  the  work  itseK  I  had  viewed  some  good  while  before  with  singular  delight ; 
having  received  it  from  our  common  friend  Mr.  R.,  in  the  very  close  of  the  late 
R.'s  Poems,  printed  at  Oxford ;  whereunto  it  was  added  (as  I  now  suppose)  that 
the  accessory  might  help  out  the  principal,  according  to  the  art  of  Stationers,  and 
to  leave  the  reader  con  la  bocca  dolceP 

For  the  plot  of  Comus,  Milton  seems  to  have  drawn  upon  several 
sources,  besides  those  mentioned  in  the  notes.  There  is  a  tradition 
that  Alice  Edgerton  and  her  two  young  brothers  actually  got  lost  at 


NOTES.  85 

night  in  Haywood  Forest  near  Ludlow,  that  the  sister  became  separated 
from  the  brothers,  and  that  Milton  based  his  masque  upon  this  incident. 
But  such  a  story  might  very  easily  have  originated  after  the  performance 
of  Milton's  Comus.  On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  that  Milton  was  in- 
debted for  some  hints  regarding  the  character  of  Comus  to  Ben  Jon- 
son's  masque  of  Pleasure  Reconciled  to  Virtue  and  to  a  Latin  play  called 
Comus,  sive  Phagesiposia  Cimmeria  :  Somnium,  by  a  Dutchman,  Erycius 
Puteanus,  whose  real  name  was  Hendrik  van  der  Putten ;  and  for  the 
plot  itself  to  George  Peele's  comedy  of  The  Old  Wives^  Tale. 

For  the  study  of  the  English  masque  in  general,  see  Ward,  History 
of  English  Dramatic  Literature  (last  edition),  Symonds,  Shakspere's 
Predecessors  in  the  English  Drama,  Verity,  Milton's  Arcades  and 
Comus.,  Sorgel,  Die  Englische  Maskenspiele,  etc. 

14  2.     Mansion.     Abiding-place  ;  cf.  II  P.  ^2,  John  xiv.  2. 

14  3.    Insphered.     See  on  //  P.  88-89. 

14  4.  Serene.  Accented  on  the  first  syllable.  A  general  rule  of 
Shakspere's,  and  often  of  Milton's  meter,  is  that  "  dissyllabic  oxytonical 
adjectives  and  participles  become  paroxytonical  before  nouns  accented 
on  the  first  syllable  "  (Schmidt,  p.  1413).  See  11.  11,  37,  217,  273,  etc.  In 
the  case  of  serene,  however,  Masson  thinks  he  detects  "a  finer  effect  in 
the  metrical  liberty  involved  in  the  ordinary  pronunciation." 

14  5.     Dim  spot.     Why  dim  ? 

14  6.     And,  with.     And  where  they,  with  ;  see  11.  26,  198. 

14  7.  Pestered.  Clogged,  encumbered  ;  for  the  probable  etymology 
of  the  word,  see  Skeat,  Etym.  Diet.  Pinfold,  "  an  enclosure  for  animals ; 
especially,  a  cattle-pound  "  {Stand.  Diet). 

14  9.     The  Crown  that  Virtue  gives.     Cf.  Rev.  iv.  4. 

14  10.  After  this  mortal  change.  After  the  change  that  comes  to 
all  mortals,  i.e.,  death  ;  Bell  quotes  Job  xiv.  14.  But  Masson  thinks  it 
means  "  this  mortal  state  of  life,"  "  this  variation  of  our  condition,"  or, 
as  Rolfe  puts  it,  "After  the  changes  of  this  mortal  life,  or  this  mortal  life 
of  change  ";  Browne,  on  the  other  hand,  says  that  change  "here  has  its 
old  meaning  of  a  figure  in  a  dance."     Cf  Shelley,  Adonais  71-72 : 

"  till  darkness  and  the  law 
Of  change  shall  o'er  his  sleep  the  mortal  curtain  draw." 

14  11.  Enthroned.  Two  syllables,  with  the  first  accented;  cf  Rev. 
iv.  4. 

14  12.  Be.     Indicative  here. 

14  13.  Golden  key.      Cf  Lye.  iio-iii.  Matt.  xvi.  19. 


86  NOTES. 

14  16.  Ambrosial  weeds.  Heavenly  garments ;  cf.  83.  For  weeds, 
see  on  VAl.  120;  also  C.  189,  390. 

14  19.  Every  .  .  .  each.  Every  .  .  .  every,  or  each  .  .  .  each  are  more 
usual;  but  cf.  C.  311,  Lye.  93. 

14  20.  Took  in  by  lot,  'twixt  high  and  nether  Jove.  The  allusion 
is  to  the  division  of  rule  among  Saturn's  three  sons,  Pluto,  Neptune, 
and  Jupiter.  In  the  Iliad,  xv.  190  et  seq.,  Neptune  says  to  Iris:  "For 
three  brethren  are  we,  and  sons  of  Kronos,  whom  Rhea  bare,  Zeus,  and 
myself,  and  Hades  is  the  third,  the  ruler  of  the  folk  in  the  under-world. 
And  in  three  lots  are  all  things  divided,  and  each  drew  a  domain  of  his 
own,  and  to  me  fell  the  hoary  sea,  to  be  my  habitation  for  ever,  when  we 
shook  the  lots :  and  Hades  drew  the  murky  darkness,  and  Zeus  the  wide 
heaven,  in  clear  air  and  clouds,  but  the  earth  and  high  Olympus  are  yet 
common  to  all  "  (Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers).  High  and  nether  Jove  (the 
designation  is  not  original  with  Milton)  are  of  course  Jupiter  and  Pluto. 
On  the  punctuation  of  the  line,  see  Masson. 

14  22.  Like  to  rich  and  various  gems.  "A  noticeable  fact  about 
the  similes  [in  Milton's  poetry]  involving  nature  is  the  frequency  with 
which  the  nature  element  appears  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  comparison; 
that  is,  instead  of  using  a  natural  object  to  explain  or  illustrate  some- 
thing artificial  or  human,  these  elements  are  inverted.  .  .  .  The  fact  that 
the  artificial  object  is  thus  employed  doubtless  indicates  that,  in  the 
writer's  opinion,  it  was  more  familiar  or  more  beautiful  than  the  nat- 
ural object  which  it  is  supposed  to  explain  or  heighten."  —  V.  P.  Squires, 
Mod.  Lang.  Notes,  Vol.  IX.  p.  234. 

14  23.  Unadorned.  "  How  can  a  bosom  be  unadorned  which  already 
is  inlaid  with  gems } "  (Landor). 

15  24.    His  tributary  gods.     Explain. 
15  25.     Several.     Separate, 

15  27.  This  Isle.  Great  Britain;  by  all  means  read  Shakspere's 
description  of  "this  scepter'd  isle  "  in  Rich.  II.  ii.  i.  40  ^/  seq. 

15  29.  Quarters.  Divides  into  four  parts ;  there  were  then  four 
separate  governments  in  Great  Britain,  which  were  located  at  London 
and  Edinburgh,  and  in  Wales  and  the  northern  counties  of  England 
(Keightley).  This  interpretation  seems  to  be  supported  by  this  tract 
(30).  Blue-haired  deities  ;  the  English  people,  because,  as  Masson  sug- 
gests, there  is  "  a  recollection  of  '  blue '  as  the  British  colour,  inher- 
ited from  the  old  times  of  the  blue-stained  Britons  who  fought  with 
Caesar."  On  the  other  hand,  quarters  to  may  be  taken  in  the  general 
sense  of  "  divides  among,"  and  blue-haired  deities  may  be  nothing  but  a 


NOTES.  87 

variation  of  tributary  gods  (24)  or  possibly  a  special  section  of  them. 
The  epithet  blue-haired  might  then  be  justified  because  "  Ovid  ex- 
pressly calls  the  sea-deities  caerulei  dii,  and  Neptune  caeruleus  deus, 
thus  associating  blue  with  the  sea  "  (Bell),  and  because  "  from  the  stage- 
directions  in  other  Masques  it  may  be  inferred  that  convention  associ- 
ated hair  of  this  hue  with  the  deities  of  the  sea  "  (Verity).  Against 
this  interpretation,  however,  it  may  be  urged  that  "  green-haired  "  "  is  the 
usual  poetic  epithet  for  Neptune  and  his  subordinates  "  (Masson),  and 
that  blue-haired  deities  "  must  be  distinct  from  the  tributary  gods  who 
wield  their  little  tridents  (line  27),  otherwise  the  thought  would  ill  accord 
with  the  complimentary  nature  of  lines  30-36  "  (Bell). 
15  30.     This  tract.     Wales. 

15  31.  A  noble  peer.  The  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  Viceroy  of  Wales, 
who  was  present  at  the  performance.  This  is  but  one  of  the  many 
compliments  which  the  poet  contrives  to  pay  throughout  the  poem, 
which  the  student  ma)ft  search  out  for  himself. 

16  ZZ.  An  old  and  haughty  nation,  etc.  A  tribute  justified  by  the 
history  of  the  Welsh  people. 

15  36.  New-intrusted.  The  Earl,  however,  had  received  his  appoint- 
ment as  early  as  the  summer  of  1631. 

15  37.    Perplexed.     Entangled ;  see  on  4. 

16  38.     The  nodding  horror,  etc.    Think  out  and  explain  the  figure. 
16  41.     Quick  command.     Explain. 

15  45.  In  hall  and  bower.  The  bower  was  "An  inner  apartment,  esp. 
as  distinguished  from  the  '  hall,'  or  large  public  room,  in  ancient  man- 
sions "  {New  Eng.  Diet.).  Scott  uses  the  phrase  as  the  equivalent  of 
"  among  men  or  women,"  since  the  hall  of  the  lord  was  often  distin- 
guished from  the  bower  of  the  lady. 

15  46.  Bacchus.  See  Class.  Diet. ;  Trent  refers  to  Walter  Pater's 
Greek  Studies. 

15  48.  After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed.  After  the  Tuscan 
mariners  had  been  transformed.  The  construction  is  a  Latin  one ;  c/. 
P.  L.  i.  573,  V.  248,  etc.,  Cicero,  Phil.  iii.  9  :  iam  a  condita  urbe^  "  even 
from  the  founding  of  the  city."  The  story  of  the  mariners  who  seized 
Bacchus,  and  were  by  him  changed  into  dolphins,  is  told  in  the  Homeric 
Hymn  to  Dionysos  and  Ovid's  Met.  iii.  660  et  seq.\  but  see  Class.  Diet. 

15  49.    As  the  winds  listed.     Cf.  John  iii.  8. 

16  50.  Circe's  island,  -^aea,  off  the  coast  of  Latium.  For  the  story 
of  Ulysses's  visit  to  Circe,  see  Odyssey  x.  On  .  .  .  fell;  cf.  the  Latin 
phrase,  incidere  in.     Note  the  anadiplosis  in  this  line. 


88  NOTES. 

15  51.  Daughter  of  the  Sun.  Browne,  in  his  Inner  Temple  Masque^ 
had  called  Circe  "  daughter  to  the  Sun."  CharmM  cup  illustrates  what 
figure .-' 

16  58.  Comus.  This  genealogy,  as  well  as  the  idea  of  bringing 
Bacchus  to  Circe's  island,  is  Milton's  own  invention.  Comus  (Greek 
Ktafws)  means  a  "  revel,"  "  carousal,"  "  merrymaking."  If  the  first  gene- 
alogy given  to  Mirth  in  VAl.  14-24  be  accepted,  Comus  is  the  half- 
brother  of  Mirth,  she  representing  Pleasure  on  the  innocent  side,  and 
he  on  the  sensual  side. 

16  59.     Frolic.     See  on  UAL  18.     Of,  because  of. 

16  60.  Celtic  and  Iberian  fields.  France  and  Spain.  Why  appro- 
priate for  Comus  ? 

16  61.     Ominous.     A  dissyllable  here ;  cf.  205-209. 

16  65.  Orient.  Bright  ;  r/l  P.  Z.  i.  545-546.  Trent,  however,  thinks 
Milton  may  have  intended  "  a  partial  reference  to  the  eastern  drugs  and 
poisons  familiar  in  literature." 

16  66.  Drouth  of  Phoebus.  Drought  of  Phoebus,  i.e.,  thirst  caused 
by  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

16  67.     Fond.     Foolish  ;  see  on  //  P.  6. 

16  69.    The  express  resemblance  of  the  gods.    Cf.  Genesis  i.  26-27. 

16  72.  All  other  parts,  etc.  This  is  a  deviation  from  the  account 
given  by  Homer.  Cf  the  Odyssey  x.  237-240  :  "  Now  when  she  had  given 
them  the  cup  and  they  had  drunk  it  off,  presently  she  smote  them  with  a 
wand,  and  in  the  styes  of  the  swine  she  penned  them.  So  they  had  the 
head  and  voice,  the  bristles  and  the  shape  of  swine,  but  their  mind  abode 
even  as  of  old  "  (Butcher  and  Lang).   Why  did  Milton  make  the  change  ? 

16  74.  Not  once  perceive,  etc.  Another  deviation;  see  on  72.  Why 
this  change  .<*  Whose  idea  gives  the  greater  pathos,  Milton's  or  Homer's  ? 
Cf.  Odyssey  ix.  91-97:  "Then  straightway  they  went  and  mixed  with 
the  men  of  the  lotus-eaters,  and  so  it  was  that  the  lotus-eaters  devised 
not  death  for  our  fellows,  but  gave  them  of  the  lotus  to  taste.  Now 
whosoever  of  them  did  eat  the  honey-sweet  fruit  of  the  lotus,  had  no 
more  wish  to  bring  tidings  nor  to  come  back,  but  there  he  chose  to 
abide  with  the  lotus-eating  men,  ever  feeding  on  the  lotus,  and  forgetful 
of  his  homeward  way "  (Butcher  and  Lang).  Masson  cites  Plato's 
ethical  application  of  the  story  in  the  Republic  viii.  and  Browne  com- 
pares F.  Q.  ii.  12.  86,  and  note,  in  Clarendon  Press  edition. 

16  79.    Adventurous  glade.     Explain. 

16  80.  Swift  as  the  sparkle,  etc.  Note  how  sound  and  sense  are 
blended;  cf.  P.  L.  i.  745,  iv.  556,  V.  and  A.  815. 


NOTES.  89 

16  83.  Spun  out  of  Iris'  woof.  Spun  out  of  the  material  dyed  by 
Iris,  the  goddess  of  the  rainbow ;  an  explanation  supported  by  P.  L. 
xi.  244.     Cf.  16,  992. 

16  84.     Weeds.     See  on  16. 

17  86.  Who,  with,  etc.  Note  the  alliteration  in  this  and  the  two 
following  lines. 

17  87.     Knows  to  still.     Cf.  Lye.  lo-ii. 

17  88.  Nor  of  less  faith.  "  Not  less  trustworthy  than  he  is  skilled 
in  music"  (Masson). 

17  92.     Viewless.     Invisible. 

17  93.  The  star.  The  evening  star.  Milton  may  have  remembered 
Shakspere's  description  of  the  morning  star;  cf.  M.  for  M.  iv.  2.  218 
(quoted  by  Keightley). 

17  96.  His  glowing  axle,  etc.  *'  Perhaps  the  text  is  an  allusion  to 
the  opinion  of  the  ancients,  that  the  setting  of  the  sun  in  the  Atlantic 
ocean  was  accompanied  with  a  noise,  as  of  the  sea  hissing.  See  Juvenal, 
Sat.  xiv.  280  :  Audiet  Herculeo  stridentem  gurgite  solem  "  (Todd). 

17  97.  Steep.  Milton  here  refers  to  what  Tennyson  calls  "the 
slope  of  the  sea,"  which  is,  of  course,  an  optical  illusion.  Cf.  The  Prin- 
cess vii.  20-26.  The  word  does  not,  therefore,  mean  "deep"  (Browne); 
nor  does  it  refer  either  to  the  steep  descent  of  the  sun  (Keightley)  or  to 
the  "  one  wide  road  of  light,  which  seems  to  rise  steep  from  the  spec- 
tator to  the  disappearing  sun  "  (Elton). 

17  98.  Slope.  Sloped,  i.e..,  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  as  the  con- 
text shows. 

17  99.  Dusky  pole.  "The  zenith,  top  of  heaven  (1.  94),  which 
darkens  as  the  sun  withdraws,  save  for  a  last  shaft  of  light  {upward 
beamy  (Elton). 

17  101.    His  chamber.     Cf  Psalm  xbc.  4-5. 

17  102-144.  Meanwhile,  etc.  Bell  contrasts  the  "  spirit "  of  these 
lines  with  that  of  VAl.  25-40. 

17  105.     Rosy  twine.     Twined  roses. 

18  111.  Of  purer  fire.  Of  the  four  elements,  out  of  which  it  was 
anciently  supposed  everything  was  created,  fire,  the  element  of  which  it 
was  thought  the  gods  consisted,  was  deemed  the  purest.  Cf.  A.  and  C. 
V.  2.  292-293,  Hen.  V.  iii.  7.  21-25.     "The  stress  is  oxy  fire''  (Browne). 

18  112,  The  starry  quire.  This  is  one  of  the  numberless  references 
in  EngUsh  poetry  to  the  music  of  the  spheres.  Cf.  M.  of  V.v.  i.  60- 
65,  Arcades  61-73.  For  the  construction  of  the  phrase,  cf.  105,  1021, 
etc.     Note  the  rhythm  in  11 3-1 14. 


90  NOTES. 

18  115.     Sounds  and  seas.     Distinguish. 

18  116.  Morrice.  A  Moorish  dance,  said  to  have  been  brought 
from  Spain  into  England  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  What  is  the 
force  of  to  ? 

18  118.  Pert.  Lively,  alert;  as  in  M.  N.  D.  i.  i.  13.  Dapper, 
spruce,  dainty  ;  originally  it  meant  "  brave."  Is  there  any  real  dis- 
tinction between  fairies  and  elves  ? 

18  119.  Dimpled  brook.  "  Note  the  exquisite  choice  of  epithets  in 
dimpled  2ind  trim  (1.  120)  "  (Trent). 

18  121.  Wakes.  Night-watches.  "  The  wake  was  kept  by  an  all- 
night  watch  in  the  church.  Tents  were  erected  in  the  church-yard  to 
supply  refreshments  to  the  crowd  on  the  following  day,  which  was 
kept  as  a  holiday.  Through  the  large  attendance  from  neighboring 
parishes  at  wakes,  devotion  and  reverence  gradually  diminished,  until 
they  ultimately  became  mere  fairs  or  markets,  characterized  by  merry- 
making and  often  disgraced  by  indulgence  and  riot  "  {Cent.  Diet).  See 
Brand,  Popular  Antiquities. 

18  125.  Rites.  Rights  in  both  Milton's  editions,  though  rites  in 
1.  535  (Masson). 

18  129.  Colytto.  "  A  goddess  worshiped  by  the  Thracians,  and 
apparently  identical  with  the  Phrygian  Cybele.  Her  worship  was 
introduced  at  Athens  and  Corinth,  where  it  was  celebrated,  in  private, 
with  great  indecency  and  licentiousness." — Harper's  Diet,  of  Class. 
Lit.  and  Ant. 

18  132.     Stygian  darkness.     See  on  Z'y^/.  3.    Spets ;  spits. 

18  135.  Hecat'.  Hecate,  "a  mysterious  divinity  sometimes  identi- 
fied with  Diana  and  sometimes  with  Proserpina.  As  Diana  represents 
the  moonlight  splendor  of  night,  so  Hecate  represents  its  darkness  and 
terrors.  She  haunted  cross-roads  and  graveyards,  was  the  goddess  of 
sorcery  and  witchcraft,  and  wandered  by  night,  seen  only  by  the  dogs, 
whose  barking  told  of  her  approach  "  (Gayley). 

18  138-140.  Ere  the,  etc.  "These  lines  are  a  little  mosaic  of 
borrowed  touches"  (Verity).     See   Introduction,  p.  xlii.  ^^  j-.?^. 

18  139.     Nice.     Coy,  prudish  ;  as  often  in  Shakspere. 

18  141.     Descry.     Reveal. 

19  144.  Light  fantastic  round.  6/ Z'^/.  34.  Round ;  dz-nce.  The 
Measure  is  described  in  the  Cambridge  MS.  of  Comus  as  "  in  a  wild,  rude 
and  wanton  Antic  "  (quoted  by  Verity),  although  it  was  usually  a  grave 
and  solemn  dance.     See  Much  Ado  ii.  i.  80. 

19  145.     Break  off,   etc.     Observe  how  well   the  change  in  meter 


NOTES.  91 

corresponds  with  the  change  that  comes  over  the  spirit  of  Comus  and 
his  talk. 

19  147.  Shrouds.  Shelters,  coverts  ;  the  verb  is  used  in  316. 
"  The  Cambridge  MS.  adds  the  direction  They  all  scatter  "  (Verity). 

19  151.     Trains.     Allurements  ;  as  in  Macb.  iv.  3.  118. 

19  153-154.  Thus  I  hurl,  etc.  "  Conceive  that  at  this  moment  of 
the  performance  the  actor  who  personates  Comus  flings  into  the  air, 
or  makes  a  gesture  as  if  flinging  into  the  air,  some  powder,  which,  by 
a  stage-device,  is  kindled,  so  as  to  produce  a  flash  of  blue  light  " 
(Masson).  The  Cambridge  MS.  \i2&  powdered  spells  ;  cf.  1.  165.  Spongy^ 
because  the  air  seems  to  absorb  the  spells. 

19  156.  Presentments.  Representations,  pictures ;  as  in  Ham.  iii. 
4.  54.     False,  because  imaginary. 

19  157.  Quaint.  "  Bizarre  and  pretty,  like  the  dress  {habits)  of  a 
conjuror"  (Elton)  ;  in  Shakspere  the  word  means  "fine,  neat,  pretty, 
pleasant  "  (Schmidt).  i|,.__ 

19  161.     Glozing.     Flattering,  deceiving. 

19  163.  Wind  me  into.  Insinuate  myself  into  the  confidence  of, 
as  in  Lear  i.  2.  106. 

19  165.  Virtue.  Power,  efficacy;  see  on  //  P.  113.  This  magic 
dust ;  see  on  153-154. 

19  166-169.  I  shall  appear,  etc.  On  the  text  of  these  lines,  see 
Masson. 

19  167.     Gear.     Business. 

19  168.  Fairly.  Softly;  in  Much  Ado  v.  4.  72,  "Soft  and  fair" 
together  signify  "  gently." 

20  169.  The  Lady.  "  She  is  the  sweet  embodiment  of  Milton's 
youthful  ideal  of  virtue,"  says  Van  Dyke,  "clothed  with  the  fairness 
of  opening  womanhood,  armed  with  the  sun-clad  power  of  chastity. 
Darkness  and  danger  cannot 

Stir  the  constant  mood  of  her  calm  thoughts. 

Evil  things  have  no  power  upon  her,  but  shrink  abashed  from  her 
presence."  After  comparing  with  her  Tennyson's  Isabel  and  Godiva, 
he  adds  :  "  These  are  sisters,  perfect  in  purity  as  in  beauty,  and  worthy 
to  be  enshrined  forever  in  the  love  of  youth.  They  are  ideals  which 
draw  the  heart,  not  downward,  but  upward  by  the  power  of  ^  das 
ewig  Weibliche.'' "  —  Van  Dyke,  Poetry  of  Tennyson  (second  edition), 
pp.  69-70. 

20  171.     Methought.     It   seemed    to   me.     In    Anglo-Saxon    there 


92  NOTES. 

were  two  verbs,  ^encan,  to  think,  and  ^yncan,  to  seem.  From  the 
latter  came  methinks,  the  verb  being  intransitive  and  the  pronoun 
dative. 

20  173.    Jocund.     Cf.  VAl.  94. 

20  175.     Granges.     Granaries  ;  the  original  meaning  of  the  word. 

20  176.  Pan.  The  Greek  god  of  flocks  and  shepherds.  See  Class. 
Diet. 

20  178.  Swilled.  Drunken ;  swilled,  from  swill,  to  drink  greedily, 
is  an  epithet  transferred  from  wassailers.  "  Where  did  the  young  lady 
ever  hear  or  learn  such  expressions  as  '  swilled  insolence ' .'' "  (Landor). 
Cf.  P.  L.  i.  501-502. 

20  179.     Wassailers.     Revelers  ;  look  up  etymology  of  word. 

20  184.     Spreading  favour  of  these  pines.     Explain. 

20  188.  Grey-hooded  Even.  Is  this  as  good  an  example  of  personi- 
fication as  the  one  in  R.  and  J.  iii.  5.  9-10,  or  the  one  in  Ham.  i.  i. 
166-167.?     Landorfound  fault  with  the  figure.     Can  you  guess  why ,? 

20  189.  Sad.  Grave,  serious  ;  as  often  in  Elizabethan  English. 
Votarist ;  votary,  one  who  has  taken  a  vow.  A  palmer  was  originally 
"  one  who  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land  and  brought  home  a 
/^/w-branch  as  a  token."  —  Skeat,  Works  of  Chaucer,  Vol.  V.  p.  3, 
which  see  for  the  essential  difference  between  palmers  and  pilgrims: 
Can  you  realize  the  picture  in  188-190?  Do  you  know  how  a  palmer 
was  dressed  ? 

20  190.     Wain.     Wagon. 

20  195.     Stole.     Cf  II  P.  91 ;  see  Abbott,  §  343. 

20  195-200.  Else,  0  thievish  Night,  etc.  Do  you  regard  this 
figure  as  very  poetic  ? 

21  204.     Single.     Mere,  unmixed ;  cf.  369. 

21  205-209.  A  thousand  fantasies,  etc.  "These  lines  are  sup- 
posed by  Warton  and  Todd  to  be  based  upon  passages  in  Marco 
Polo's  Travels,  and  in  Heywood's  Hierarchy  of  Angels.  In  a  quota- 
tion from  the  latter  work,  benighted  travellers  are  related  to  have  seen 
three  strange  human  shapes,  that  called  and  beckoned  to  them.  But  the 
Tempest  may  well  have  suggested  the  whole  imagery"  (Browne). 
Verity,  however,  urges  that  "Milton  was  drawing  upon  a  popular 
superstition ;  .  .  .  No  doubt  many  of  his  audience  believed  in  these 
*  calling  shapes  '  and  *  airy  tongues  '  of  which  mediaeval  romance  is 
full."  On  11.  205-225,  see  Henry  Reed,  Lectures  on  the  British  Poets, 
i.  213-214. 

21  208.     Airy  tongues.     "...  if  there  is  one  thing  more  striking 


NOTES.  93 

than  another  in  this  poet,  it  is  that  his  great  and  original  imagination 
was  almost  wholly  nourished  by  books,  perhaps  I  should  rather  say 
set  in  motion  by  them.  It  is  wonderful  how,  from  the  most  withered 
and  juiceless  hint  gathered  from  his  reading,  his  grand  images  rise  like 
an  exhalation ;  how  from  the  most  battered  old  lamp  caught  in  that 
huge  drag-net  with  which  he  swept  the  waters  of  learning,  he  could 
conjure  a  tall  genius  to  build  his  palaces.  Whatever  he  touches  swells 
and  towers.  That  wonderful  passage  in  *  Comus '  of  the  airy  tongues, 
perhaps  the  most  imaginative  in  suggestion  he  ever  wrote,  was  conjured 
out  of  a  dry  sentence  in  Purchas's  abstract  of  Marco  Polo."  —  Lowell, 
Works  (Houghton),  Vol.  IV.  pp.  104-105.  But  see  on  205-209.  Beers, 
in  his  Hist,  of  Eng.  Rom.,  etc.,  pp.  93-94,  quotes  11.  208-209  as  a 
glimpse  "behind  the  curtain  which  hangs  between  nature  and  the  super- 
natural." Syllable^  pronounce  distinctly ;  literally,  pronounce  the  sylla- 
bles one  by  one. 

21  212.     Conscience.     A  trisyllable. 

21  215.  Chastity.  Instead  of  Charity  (Keightley) ;  cf.  I  Corin- 
thians xiii.  13.  Verity  notes  that  "the  substantive  chastity  occurs 
seven  times  in  the  poem ;  the  adjective  chaste  four  times."  Why  is 
this  significant  ? 

21  216.     I  see  ye  visibly.     Cf.  155-156. 

21  217.  Supreme.  See  on  4;  to  whom  should  be  slurred  into  one 
syllable  {fwhom). 

21  219.  Glistering.  Glistening,  a  form  not  used  by  either  Shaks- 
pere  or  Milton.     Cf.  the  familiar  line  in  M.  of  V.  ii.  7.  65. 

21  221-224.  Was  I  deceived,  etc.  For  other  examples  of  iteration 
of  the  same  sort,  see  Hill,  Principles  of  Rhetoric  (1895),  P-  ^5^  5  perhaps 
the  finest  example  in  Milton's  poems  is  in  P.  L.  vii.  25-26.  But,  if 
possible,  consult  C.  A.  Smith,  Repetition  and  Parallelism  in  English 
Verse.     What  proverb  do  these  lines  suggest  ? 

21  225.  Casts.  This  is  an  example  of  construction  changed  by 
change  of  thought;  we  should  expect  cast.  But  see  Abbott,  §415, 
Masson,  Vol.  III.  p.  84.      Tufted;  cf  VAl.  78. 

22  230.  Sweet  Echo.  For  the  story  of  Echo  and  Narcissus  (237), 
see  Class.  Diet.  The  appeal  to  Echo  seems  to  have  been  a  common 
device  with  masque-writers,  and  several  instances  very  similar  to  the 
present  one  can  be  pointed  out  in  masques  which  preceded  Milton's. 
Examine  the  metrical  structure  of  the  song. 

22  231.  Thy  airy  shell.  The  hollow  vault  of  the  atmosphere,  or 
Omar  Khayyam's 


94  NOTES. 

"  inverted  Bowl  they  call  the  Sky, 
Whereunder  crawling  coop'd  we  live  and  die." 

Cf.  Nat.  102-103.  ^^^  t^6  word  has  been  taken  as  referring  to  (i)  a 
sea-shell,  (2)  a  musical  shell  {concha),  or  (3)  the  body  or  form  of  Echo. 
Thomas,  who  defends  the  last  interpretation,  says  :  "  Milton  frequently 
uses  '  airy '  in  the  sense  of  *  unsubstantial '  or  '  spirit.'  (See  above, 
1.  208;  also  //  P.  148);  and  if  we  remember  the  mythological  story, 
how  Echo  pined  away,  and  her  material  body  disappeared,  leaving 
nothing  but  her  voice,  *  airy  shell '  might  well  be  applied  to  her  form." 
Of  which  of  these,  prithee,  was  Landor  thinking,  when  he  said :  "  The 
habitation  is  better  adapted  to  an  oyster  than  to  Echo  " } 

22  232.  Meander.  A  river  in  Asia  Minor  from  which  we  have 
derived  a  much-used  word.  See  Hales,  Folia  Litteraria,  pp.  231-238. 
Professor  Hales  thinks  the  Meander  is  mentioned  because  it  "  was  a 
famous  haunt  of  swans,  and  the  swan  was  a  favourite  bird  with  the 
Greek  and  Latin  writers  —  one  to  whose  sweet  singing  they  perpetually 
allude.  .  .  .  there  is  no  particular  reference  to  the  sinuous  course  of 
the  river,  except  so  far  as  the  epithet  *  slow  '  refers  to  it."  The  special 
haunt  of  the  nightingale  which  Milton  had  in  mind,  according  to  Hales, 
was  "  the  woodlands  close  by  Athens  to  the  north-west,  through  which 
the  Cephissus  flowed,  and  where  stood  the  birthplace  of  Sophocles, 

Singer  of  sweet  Colonus  and  its  child." 

Margenty  margin. 

22  234.     Love-lorn.     Deprived  of  her  love  ;  cf.  Temp.  iv.  i .  68. 

22  241.  Parley.  Speech.  Do  you  note  the  appropriateness  of  this 
designation }  Daughter  of  the  Sphere.,  i.e.,  daughter  of  what  Milton 
calls  the  airy  shell,  if  that  phrase  be  taken  in  the  sense  first  suggested 
in  the  note  on  231  ;  see  Cent.  Diet.  s.  v.  sphere.  Warburton  (quoted  by 
Todd),  however,  thinks  that  Milton  supposes  Echo  to  "owe  her  first 
existence  to  the  reverberation  of  the  music  of  the  spheres."  If  this  be 
true,  sphere  is  used  in  the  sense  common  to  the  old  astronomers,  who 
imagined  that  the  stars,  sun,  moon,  and  planets  were  set  in  transparent 
spheres,  which  revolved  about  the  earth  as  their  center  and  produced 
the  *'  music  of  the  spheres."     Cf.  At  a  Solefnn  Music  2. 

22  243.  Resounding  grace.  Grace  of  resounding,  i.e.,  charm  of 
echo.     What  is  the  effect  of  the  Alexandrine  ? 

22  244.  In  the  Cambridge  MS.,  Verity  says,  there  is  a  stage-direc- 
tion :  Comus  looks  in  and  speaks.  "  This  beginning  has  the  ring  of 
Marlowe's  verse,  its  impetus  and  passion  "  (Elton). 


NOTES.  95 

22  247.    Vocal  air.     Explain. 

22  248.     His.     Its. 

22  250.    Empty-vaulted  night.     Explain. 

22  251.     Fall.     Cf.  T.  N.\.i.  4.     Smoothing,  etc.;  cf.  II  P.  58. 

22  252.     It.     What  ?     Note  the  exquisite  beauty  of  11.  249-252. 

22  253.  Sirens.  Milton,  in  associating  the  sirens  with  Circe,  modi- 
fies the  myth  to  suit  his  own  purpose,  just  as  Browne  in  his  Inner 
Temple  Masque  had  previously  done.  Homer,  moreover,  mentions 
only  two  Sirens.  See  Class.  Diet. ;  Odyssey  x.  xii.  Also  see  on  867- 
889. 

22  254.  Flowery-kirtled.  Wearing  kirtles  covered  with  flowers,  or, 
perhaps,  kirtles  made  of  flowers. 

22  256.  Take  the  prisoned  soul.  "  Take  the  soul  prisoner ; 
'prisoned'  being  used  proleptically "  (Bell).  For  examples  of  pro- 
lepsis  in  Shakspere,  see  Schmidt,  p.  1420. 

22  257.     Lap.     Cf.VAl.i^e.     Scylla ;  see  Class.  Diet. 

23  258.  Barking  waves.  Cf.  Virgil,  yEneid  vii.  588  :  multis  cireum 
latrantibus  undis. 

23  259.     Charybdis.     See  Class.  Diet. 

23  260.  Yet  they,  etc.  Browne  quotes  F.  Q.  iii.  Introduction  4 : 
"  My  senses  lulled  are  in  slomber  of  delight." 

23  265.  Hail,  foreign  wonder !  Cy:  7>w/.  i.  2.  421-427.  Dr.  John- 
son thought  the  dispute  between  the  Lady  and  Comus  "  the  most  ani- 
mated and  affecting  scene  of  the  drama." 

23  267.  Unless.  To  bring  out  the  meaning,  supply  thou  be  after 
Unless,  although  the  charm  of  the  line  lies  in  the  suppressed  inference. 

23  268.     Pan.     See  on  176.     Sylvan;  see  on  II  P.  134. 

23  269-270.     Forbidding,  etc.     Cf.  Arcades  44-53- 

23  271.     Ill  is  lost.     A  Latin  idiom,  — male  perditur  (Keightley). 

23  273.     Extreme  shift.     Last  resort;  cf. 617.     For  accent,  see  on  4. 

23-24  277-290.  What  chance,  etc.  "  Here  is  an  imitation  of  those 
scenes  in  the  Greek  tragedies  where  the  dialogue  proceeds  by  question 
and  answer,  a  single  verse  being  allotted  to  each  "  (Hurd,  quoted  by 
Masson).  Cf.  Rich.  III.  iv.  4.  211-218,  343-361,  M.  of  V.  iv.  i.  65-69, 
Browning,  Balaustion,  etc. 

23  279.     Near-ushering  guides.     Explain. 

23  285.    Forestalling.     Anticipating. 

24  286.     Hit.     Guess;  see  on  //  P.  14. 

24  290.  Hebe.  See  on  VAl.  29.  Unrazored ;  Warton  thought 
this  an  "  unpleasant  epithet,"  but  he  noted  that  Shakspere  has  razorable, 


96  NOTES. 

Temp.  ii.  i.  250.  Does  Milton  make  the  brothers  talk  in  character  with 
his  description  of  them  ? 

24  291.  What  time.  When.  Laboured  ox;  why  the  epithet? 
The  notation  of  time  here  is  quite  pastoral.  "  The  return  of  oxen  and 
horses  from  the  plough  is  certainly  not  a  natural  circumstance  of  an 
English  evening,  except  it  be  an  evening  in  winter,  when  the  ploughman 
must  work  as  long  as  he  can  see  "  (Todd).  Landor  also  says  that "  in  the 
summer,  and  this  was  summer,  neither  the  ox  nor  the  hedger  are  at  work." 

24  293.  Swinked.  Labored,  tired ;  look  up  etymology.  Hedger,  a 
maker  or  mender  of  hedges ;  possibly  the  word  is  here  used  generally 
for  "  laborer." 

24  294.  Mantling.  Covering  like  a  mantle ;  not  "  spreading,"  as 
some  editors  interpret.     LI.  294-296  are  among  the  best  in  the  poem. 

24  297.     Port.     Bearing.     As  they  stood ;  pleonasm. 

24  299.     Element.     The  air  or  sky ;  so  in  Shakspere  frequently. 

24  301.  Plighted.  Folded.  For  awe-strook,  see  Masson  on  P.  L. 
ii.  165. 

24  303.     Like  the  path  to  Heaven.     Point  out  the  similarity. 

24  312.     Dingle  .  .  .  dell.     Distinguish. 

24  313.  Bosky.  Woody.  Bourne,  brook  or  boundary,  it  is  difficult 
to  say  which.     See  New  Eng.  Diet. 

24  315.  Stray  attendance.  Strayed  attendants;  for  examples  in 
Shakspere  of  the  abstract  for  the  concrete,  see  Schmidt,  pp.  1421-1423. 

25  316.     Shroud.     See  on  147. 

25  317.  Low-roosted  lark.  "  The  lark  in  her  low  resting-place  " 
(Masson) ;  roost,  even  to-day,  is  used  figuratively  for  "  any  temporary 
resting-place  "  {Stand.  Diet).     Cf.  P.  R.  ii.  279-280. 

25  318.  Thatched  pallet.  Thatched,  as  Masson  suggests,  may  here 
refer  to  the  texture  of  the  nest  itself,  and  not  to  the  covering.  Keight- 
ley,  however,  says  :  "  The  ideas  here  belong  rather  to  a  hen-house  than 
to  the  resting-place  of  the  lark,  which  has  no  thatch  over  it,  and  in 
which,  as  it  is  on  the  ground,  he  does  not  roost." 

25  322.  Courtesy.  Milton  suggests  the  correct  derivation  of  the 
word ;  cf.  F.  Q.  \\.  i .  i  : 

"  Of  Court,  it  seemes,  men  Courtesie  doe  call, 
For  that  it  there  most  useth  to  abound ; 
And  well  beseemeth  that  in  princes  hall 
That  vertue  should  be  plentifully  found. 
Which  of  all  goodly  manners  is  the  ground, 
And  roote  of  civill  conversation  :  " 


NOTES.  97 

25  324.     Tapestry.     Pronounce. 

25  329.     Square.     Adjust;  cf.  W.  T.  v.  i.  52. 

25  330.  The  Two  Brothers.  "The  dialogue  between  the  two 
Brothers  is  an  amicable  contest  between  fact  and  philosophy.  The 
younger  draws  his  arguments  from  common  apprehension,  and  uie 
obvious  appearance  of  things  :  the  elder  proceeds  on  a  prof o under 
knowledge,  and  argues  from  abstracted  principles.  Here  the  difference 
of  their  ages  is  properly  made  subservient  to  a  contrast  of  character  " 
(Warton,  quoted  by  Todd).  Considered  from  a  dramatic  point  of  view, 
could  the  dialogue  be  improved  in  any  way  ? 

25  332.     The  traveller's  benison.     Cf.  F.  Q.  iii.  i.  43. 

25  333.     Stoop.     Cf.  II  P.  72. 

25  334.  Disinherit.  Dispossess  ;  see  Schmidt  for  Shakspere's  use 
of  "  inherit." 

25  335.  Double  night,  etc.  "The  natural  darkness  of  night  and 
the  local  darkness  of  the  woods  "  (Masson).     Cf  S.  A.  593. 

25  338.     Wicker  hole.     What  is  meant  t 

25  340.  Rule.  Line,  ray;  in  the  prose  and  poetry  of  our  language 
there  are  many  descriptions  of  the  same  thing,  some  of  which  will 
readily  recur  to  the  mind.  What  effect  is  the  alliteration  in  this  line 
intended  to  produce  ? 

25  341.  Star  of  Arcady,  etc.  Any  star  in  the  constellation  of  the 
Greater  Bear.  Tyrian  Cynosure.,  the  Lesser  Bear,  the  constellation  by 
which  the  Tyrian  or  Phoenician  mariners  steered.  See  on  UAL  80  ; 
look  up  the  myths  of  Callisto  and  Areas  in  Class.  Diet.,  which  will 
explain  the  phrase  of  Arcady. 

26  345.  Pastoral  reed.  Shepherd's  pipe.  Oaten  stops,  holes  in 
the  oaten  stem  of  which  the  shepherd's  pipe  is  made.  See  on 
Lye-  ZZ- 

26  349.     Innumerous.     Innumerable ;  cf.  P.  L.  vii.  455. 

26  356.     What  if,  etc.     Supply  the  ellipsis  in  this  line. 

26  358.  Savage  hunger,  etc.  "  The  hunger  of  savage  beasts,  or 
the  lust  of  men  as  savage  as  they  "  (Newton). 

26  359.  Over-exquisite.  Too  inquisitive;  look  up  etymology  of 
exquisite. 

26  360.  Cast  the  fashion.  Foretell  the  form.  If  this  interpreta- 
tion is  correct,  the  metaphor  is  from  astrology,  and  not  from  medi- 
cine, metallurgy,  or  accounts,  as  has  been  variously  explained. 

26  361.     Be  so.     That  is,  be  really  evils.     Is  this  line  necessary .? 

26  362.     What.     Why. 


98  NOTES. 

26  363.  Run  to  meet,  etc.  What  proverb  is  alluded  to  ?  Cf. 
Much  Ado  i.  i.  96-97. 

26  366.     So  to  seek.     So  at  a  loss  ;  cf.  P.  L.  viii.  197. 
26  367.     Unprincipled.     Ungrounded  in  the  principles  of. 

26  370.  Not  being  in  danger,  etc.  "  Lord  Monboddo  greatly  ad- 
mired this  parenthesis,  and  pointed  out  how  the  voice  of  the  speaker 
must  have  varied  its  tone  in  passing  from  the  first  clause  to  the  second  " 
(Masson). 

27  373-375.  Virtue  could  see,  etc.  Cf.  R.  and  J.  iii.  2.  8-9;  also 
F.  Q.\.  I.  12:  "  Vertue  gives  her  selfe  light  through  darkenesse  for  to 
wade."     Ben  Jonson,  in  Pleasure  Reconciled  to  Virtue^  says  of  Virtue  : 

"  She,  she  it  is  in  darkness  shines, 
'T  is  she  that  still  herself  refines, 
By  her  own  light  to  every  eye." 

27  375.    Flat  sea.     Cf.  Lye.  98. 

27  375-380.  And  wisdom's  self,  etc.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that 
these  lines  describe  Milton's  life  at  Horton,  1632-1637. 

27  376.  Seeks  to.  Resorts  to  ;  "  common  in  our  translation  of  the 
Bible  "  (Todd). 

27  377.    Contemplation.     Cf  II  P.  54. 

27  380.  All  to-ruffled.  In  Milton's  editions  printed  all  to  rufTd, 
which  has  been  variously  emended  :  (i)  all  too  ruffled ; .{2)  all-to  ruffled ; 
(3)  all  to-ruffled.  Of  these  the  last  has  the  most  to  support  it,  and 
means  "  quite  ruffled  up  ";  the  other  readings  may  be  interpreted  as  (i) 
"  much  too  ruffled,"  and  (2)  "  altogether  ruffled."  See  Masson's  note 
and  New  Eng.  Diet.  s.v.  All,  C.  14,  15. 

27  382.  I'  the  centre.  That  is,  in  the  center  of  the  earth  \cf.  P.L. 
i.  74,  686,  P.  R.  iv.  534. 

27  385.  Himself  is  his  own  dungeon.  Cf.  S.  A.  155-156,  P.  L. 
i.  254-255. 

27  385-389.     'T  is  most  true,  etc.    Cf.  II  P.  167-174. 

27  386.  Affects.  Likes,  prefers  ;  with  no  sense  of  doing  so  for 
effect. 

27  389.  As  safe,  etc.  "  Milton  was  thinking  of  the  Roman  Curia. 
Twenty  years  later  Cromwell  showed,  April  20th,  1653,  that  the  great 
English  Council-chamber  was  not  inviolable  "  (Verity). 

27  390.     Weeds.     See  on  Z'^/.  12c. 

27  393.     Hesperian.    The  Hesperides  were  the  sisters,  who,  assisted 


NOTES.  99 

by  the  dragon  Ladon,  guarded  the  golden  apples  of  Juno.  To  slay 
this  dragon  and  secure  the  fruit  was  one  of  the  labors  of  Hercules. 
See  Class.  Diet. 

27  395.     Unenchanted.     Explain ;  see  on  VAl.  40. 

27  398.     Unsunned.     Cf.F.Q.ilj.     Heading: 

"  Gunyon  findes  Mamon  in  a  delve, 
Sunning  his  treasure  hore." 

27  401.  Wink  on.  Shut  the  eyes  to,  seem  not  to  see ;  or  possibly, 
give  a  significant  look  to.     Cf.  A.  V.  L.  i.  3.  H2. 

27  402.  A  single.  Trent  inserts  a  comma  after  single.  Any  differ- 
ence in  meaning .? 

28  403.     Surrounding.    What  was  the  original  meaning  of  the  word  } 
28  404.     Of  night  or  loneliness.     Cf.  369.     //  recks  me  not,  I  take 

no  account;  cf.  Lye.  122. 

28  408.     Infer.     Argue. 

28  409.     Without  all  doubt.     Beyond  all  doubt. 

28  413.     Suspicion.     Pronounce. 

28  419.     If.     Even  if. 

28-30  420-475.  'T  is  chastity,  etc.  This  passage,  says  Masson,  "  is 
not  only  a  concentrated  expression  of  the  moral  of  the  whole  Masque, 
but  also  an  exposition  of  what  was  a  cardinal  idea  with  Milton  through 
his  whole  life,  and  perhaps  the  most  central  idea  of  his  personal  philos- 
ophy in  early  manhood." 

28  421.     Complete  steel.     See  on  4;  cf  Ham.  i.  4.  52. 

28  422.  A  quivered  nymph,  etc.  Cf  Spenser's  description  of  Bel- 
phcebe,  F.  Q.  ii.  3.  29,  31. 

28  423.  Trace.  Traverse.  Cf.  M.  N.  D.  ii.  i.  25.  Unharboured, 
unharboring  ;  sometimes  interpreted  "  yielding  no  shelter." 

28  424.     Infamous.     Pronounce. 

28  425.     The  sacred  rays,  etc.     Cf  782. 

28  426.  Bandite.  So  spelled  by  Milton.  Mountaineer,  as  Warton 
notes,  is  here  an  opprobrious  term;  ef  Cymb.  iv.  2.  120.  Contrast  the 
present  use  of  the  word. 

28  428.     Very.     Veritable  ;  very  is  here  an  adjective. 

28  429.  Horrid.  Meaning?  Cf.  horror,  38,  and  Latin  horridus. 
How  is  the  word  sometimes  abused  .'' 

29  432.  Some  say,  etc.  Cf  Ham.  i.  i.  158-164;  Newton  cites 
Fletcher,  Faithful  Shepherdess,  i.  i : 


100  NOTES. 

"  Yet  I  have  heard  (my  mother  told  it  me, 
And  now  I  do  believe  it),  if  I  keep 
My  virgin-flower  uncropt,  pure,  chaste,  and  fair, 
No  goblin,  wood-god,  fairy,  elf,  or  fiend, 
Satyr,  or  other  power  that  haunts  the  groves, 
Shall  hurt  my  body,  or  by  vain  illusion 
Draw  me  to  wander  after  idle  fires ; 
Or  voices  calling  me  in  dead  of  night. 
To  make  me  follow,  and  so  tole  me  on. 
Through  mire  and  standing  pools,  to  find  my  ruin." 

What  differences  do  you  find  between  11.  432-437,  438-452,  and  453- 

475? 

28  433.    Or  fire.     See  on  UAl.  104 ;  cf.  P.  L.  ix.  634-64?. 

29  434.  Blue.  "  There  were  witches  to  represent  most  colours " 
(Verity),  but  blue  here  may  refer  to  the  appearance  of  the  hag.  Unlaid 
ghost,  a  ghost  that  has  not  been  "laid"  or  exorcised  ;  cf.  Cymb.  iv.  2. 
278.  For  some  interesting  superstitions  entertained  regarding  ghosts, 
see  Brand,  Popular  Antiquities. 

29  435.  Curfew.  See  on  //  P.  74;  for  the  popular  superstition 
that  ghosts  would  wander  about  from  curfew  until  the  first  cockcrow, 
cf.  Lear  iii.  4.  1 20-1 21. 

29  436.  Goblin.  See  on  Z'^/.  105.  Swart ;  cf.  Lye.  \^%.  Warton 
and  Todd  give  numerous  instances  of  the  superstition  which  supposed 
that  mines  were  inhabited  by  various  sorts  of  spirits. 

29  438-440.  Do  ye  believe,  etc.  Cf.  the  latter  part  of  the  justly 
famous  passage  on  "  Athens,  the  eye  of  Greece,"  P.  R.  iv.  236-284. 

29  442.  Silver-shafted  queen.  "  The  epithet  is  applicable  to  Diana 
both  as  huntress  and  goddess  of  the  moon :  as  the  former  she  bore 
arrows  which  were  frequently  called  shafts,  and  as  the  latter  she  bore 
shafts  or  rays  of  light  "  (Bell). 

29  443.     Brinded.     Cf  Macb.  iv.  i.  i. 

29  445.  The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid.  Verity  objects  that  "  Cupid 
was  said  to  have  two  kinds  of  darts,  one  with  a  golden,  the  other  with 
a  leaden  tip  ;  the  former  to  cause,  the  latter  to  repel,  love,"  and  quotes 
Ovid,  Met.  i.  469-471 ;  but  Milton,  who  was  certainly  aware  of  this  fact, 
evidently  depends  upon  the  context,  and  the  ^^xXh^X  frivolous  (especially 
characteristic  of  the  golden  bolt),  to  make  clear  his  meaning. 

29  447.  Snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield.  Cf.  Lliad  v.  738-741  : 
"About  her  shoulders  cast  she  the  tasselled  aegis  terrible  .  .  .  and 
therein   is   the   dreadful  monster's  Gorgon   head,  dreadful  and  grim, 


NOTES.  101 

portent  of  aegis-bearing  Zeus."  For  snaky-headed,  look  up  the  myth  of 
Perseus  and  Medusa  in  Class.  Diet. 

29  449.  Freezed.  On  the  tendency  of  strong  verbs  to  become  weak 
consult  some  good  history  of  the  English  language,  —  Emerson's  or 
Lounsbury's.     Congealed ;  see  on  4. 

29  450.  Rigid  looks,  etc.  "  Rigid  looks  refer  to  snaky  locks,  and 
noble  grace  to  the  beautiful  face,  as  Gorgon  is  represented  on  ancient 
gems"  (Warburton,  quoted  by  Todd). 

29  451.     Dashed.     Put  out  of  countenance ;  cf.  L.  L.  L.  v.  2.  585. 

29  452.     Blank  awe.     Explain. 

29  455.     Lackey.     Attend  as  lackies,  or  servants. 

29^457.     Vision.     A  trisyllable;  r/.  298. 

29  458.  Things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear.  Cf.  784,  Arcades  73. 
See  on  112. 

29-30  459-463.  Till  oft  converse,  etc.  Cf.  P.  L.  v.  404-503*  where 
the  doctrine  is  developed  more  at  length.  Oft  converse,  frequent  inter- 
course.    Heavenly  habitants  ;  cf  455. 

29  462.  Turns.  We  should  expect  the  subjunctive  here,  as  in  460, 
but  perhaps  Masson  is  right  in  suggesting  that  the  syntax  is  intention- 
ally abnormal ;  "  as  if  certainty  had  so  increased  before  the  second 
clause  that  it  could  be  stated  as  a  fact." 

30  463-475.  But,  when  lust,  etc.  Warton  was  the  first  to  perceive 
that  the  doctrine  here  expounded  is  from  Plato's  Phcedo.  See  Jowett, 
Dialogues  of  Plato  (third  edition).  Vol.  II.  pp.  224-225. 

30  469.     Divine.     Pronounce. 

30  473.     It.     What  should  we  have  expected  } 

30  474.     Sensualty.     So  spelled  by  Milton. 

30  478.  But  musical,  etc.  Shakspere  had  previously  said  this  of 
Love ;  cf.  L.  L.  L.  iv.  3.  342-343.  The  present  passage  is  usually  taken 
as  a  compliment  to  Plato. 

30  483.     Night-foundered.     Explain  ;  cf  P.  L.\.  204. 

30  486.  Sister.  Lowell  notes  that  "  the  e  is  ehded  from  the  word 
sister  by  its  preceding  a  vowel."  —  Works  (Houghton),  Vol.  IV.  p.  108, 
note. 

31  490.  That  hallo,  etc.  The  edition  printed  by  Lawes  in  1637  has 
the  following  stage-direction  :  "  He  hallos ;  the  Guardian  Daemon  hallos 
again,  and  enters  in  the  habit  of  a  shepherd."  What  is  the  effect  of  the 
succession  of  hallos  {cf  481,  486,  487,  490)  ? 

31  491.     Iron  stakes.     C/.  487. 
31  492.     Young.     Stress. 


102  NOTES. 

31  494.  Thyrsis.  See  on  VAl.  83-88;  in  Epitaphium  Damonis, 
Milton  represents  himself  as  Thyrsis,  and  in  his  poem  entitled  Thyrsis 
Matthew  Arnold  sings  of  his  friend  Clough.  The  name  has  been  freely 
used  in  pastoral  poetry  from  the  time  of  Theocritus  to  the  present. 

31  495-512.  The  huddling . brook,  etc.  Note  the  rhymed  couplets 
in  this  passage.     Why  are  they  used } 

31  495.  Huddling.  Explain.  To  what  legend  is  there  an  allusion 
in  this  passage .?     Cf.  VAl.  145-150,  etc. 

31  501.  His  next  joy.  Rolfe  takes  this  as  referring  to  the  younger 
brother,  but  if  next  be  used  in  the  sense  of  "  nearest,"  "  dearest,"  a  sense 
frequent  enough  in  Elizabethan  EngUsh,  it  may  be  addressed  to  the 
elder  brother. 

31  502.    Toy.     See  on  //  P.  4. 

31  506.     To.     Force  of  to  ? 

31  507.    Where  is  she  ?     But  see  562  et  seq. 

31  508.    How  chance,  etc.     See  Abbott,  §  y]. 

31  509.     Sadly.     See  on  189. 

31  512.     Shew.     Pronounce. 

31  515.  Sage  poets.  Milton  refers  especially  to  Homer  and  Virgil, 
though  there  is  a  possibility  of  his  having  Spenser  and  Tasso  also  in 
mind.     In  P.  L.  iii.  19,  he  repeats  taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse. 

32  516.     Storied.     Explain ;  ^. ///'.  1 59. 

32  517.  Dire  Chimeras.  Cf.  P.  L.  ii.  628.  Enchanted  isles  ;  refer- 
ring, probably,  to  the  islands  of  Circe  and  Calypso  {Odyssey),  although 
Verity  thinks  the  "  Wandering  Islands  "  of  the  F.  Q.  ii.  12.  11  ^/  seq.  are 
meant.  Spenser,  he  adds,  there  follows  Tasso's  account  of  the  isle  of 
Armida. 

32  520.  Navel.  Center.  The  editors  note  that  Delphi  was  named 
the  navel  of  the  earth. 

32  521.     A  sorcerer,  etc.     See  46  et  seq.,  and  on  58. 

32  526.  Murmurs.  Incantations;  cf.  817,  Arcades  60,  and  Statins, 
Thebais  ix.  732-733  (quoted  by  Todd)  : 

Cantusque  sacros  et  conscia  miscet 
Murmura. 

32  529.    Reason.     Cf.  P.  L.  v.  100-102. 

32  530.  Charactered.  Impressed,  stamped.  The  word  is  accented 
on  the  second  syllable;  being  used  in  its  original  sense  (Gr.  xo-po-f^TVp)* 
it  continues  the  metaphor,  which  is  taken  from  the  process  of  melting 
down  coins. 


NOTES.  103 

32  531.  Crofts.  "A  piece  of  enclosed  ground,  used  for  tillage  or 
pasture  :  in  most  localities  a  small  piece  of  arable  land  adjacent  to  a 
house  "  {New  Eng.  Diet).  Milton's  use  of  the  word  here,  as  Murray 
remarks,  suggests  the  sense  of  the  Dutch  word  kroft,  krocht^  which  he 
defines  as  "prominent  rocky  height,  high  and  dry  land,  field  on  the 
downs." 

32  532.     Brow.     Overhang;  cf.VAl.Z.      Whence;  explain. 

32  533.     Monstrous  rout.     See  on  Zyc.  158. 

32  534.  Stabled  wolves.  Wolves  in  their  dens,  although  some  edi- 
tors interpret  "  wolves  that  have  got  into  the  sheepfold."  But  compare 
P.  L.  xi.  751-752,  and  Virgil,  jrEneid  vi.  179:  stabula  alta  ferarum 
(quoted  by  Bell). 

32  535.    Hecate.     See  on  135. 

32  539.     Unweeting.     Unwitting. 

32  540.  By  then.  By  the  time  that ;  or  perhaps  by  then  .  .  .fold  is 
parenthetical. 

32  542.     Dew-besprent.     Sprinkled  with  dew;  cf.  Lye.  29. 

32  545.    Flaunting  honeysuckle.     Cf.  Lye.  40. 

32  546.  Melancholy.  Pensive  contemplation ;  a  sense  now  rare. 
"  This  line  contains  the  gist  of  //  Penseroso "  (Trent). 

.  33  547.     To  meditate.     Probably  "  to  practise  " ;  see  on  Lye.  66. 

33  548.  Close.  "  The  conclusion  of  a  musical  phrase,  theme,  or 
movement ;  a  Cadence  "  {New  Eng.  Diet.).  Which  idea  best  suits  the 
present  passage  ?     Cf.  Nat.  99-100. 

33  550.     Barbarous.     Etymological  meaning } 

33  552.     An  unusual  stop.     See  145. 

33  553.  Drowsy-flighted.  "Always  drowsily-flying"  (Masson). 
The  reading  in  the  text  is  from  the  Cambridge  MS.,  which  gives 
drowsy  flighted ;  both  of  Milton's  editions,  as  well  as  Lawes's  edition 
of  1637,  have  drowsie  frighted.  If  Milton  intended  the  latter,  the  mean- 
ing would  probably  be  "  the  drowsy  steeds  that  have  been  frightened  " 
(Masson).  Some  editors  print  drowsy  frighted,  and  explain /r^^/z/'<f^  as 
"  freighted." 

33  554.  Close-curtained  Sleep.  Cf.  Shakspere's  "The  curtain'd 
Sleep,"  Macb.  ii.  i.  51  ;  see  also  my  edition  of  The  Ancient  Mariner 
(The  Macmillan  Company),  p.  88. 

33  555-562.  At  last,  etc.  The  reference  is  to  the  Echo  song  (230); 
the  lines  themselves  constitute  Milton's  finest  compliment  to  Lady  Alice. 

33  556.  Rose  like  a  steam,  etc.  Cf  T.  N.  i.  i.  1-7  ;  the  second 
edition  has  stream,  and  so  spoils  the  comparison. 


104  NOTES. 

33  557.     That.     So  that ;  ^/ /'.  Z.  iv.  604. 

33  560.     Still.     Always,  ever. 

33  561.  Create  a  soul,  etc.  See  Masson's  note  for  Warburton's 
absurd  suggestion  as  to  the  origin  of  this  passage,  and  Trent's  note  for 
another  of  the  same  sort.  By  all  means  look  up  the  famous  description 
of  Death  in  P.  L.  ii.  666-673. 

33  568.    Lawns.     See  on  VAL  71. 

33  572.    By  certain  signs.     Cf.  644. 

33  573.     Prevent.     Anticipate ;  as  often  in  Shakspere. 

34  585.     Period.     Sentence.     For  me,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned. 

34  586-599.  Against  the  threats,  etc.  "  A  peculiarly  Miltonic  pas- 
sage :  one  of  those  that  ought  to  be  got  by  heart  both  on  their  own 
account  and  in  memory  of  Milton"  (Masson). 

34  591.     Meant  most  harm.     Meant  to  be  most  harmful. 

34  592.     Happy  trial.     Explain. 

34  598-599.  The  pillared  firmament,  etc.  What,  then,  is  his  con- 
ception of  the  universe .?     (^  /*.  i?.  iv.  455. 

34  603.     Legions.     A  trisyllable. 

34  604.  Acheron.  A  river  in  Hell,  but  here  put  for  the  whole 
region;  cf.  P.  L.  ii.  575  ei  seq.  Todd  quotes:  "All  hell  run  out,  and 
sooty  flags  display,"  P.  Fletcher,  Locusts  (1627). 

34  605.    Harpies  and  Hydras.     See  Class.  Diet. 

34  606.  *Twixt  Africa  and  Ind.  What  have  you  read  about  this 
region  which  would  make  Milton's  reference  appropriate  ? 

35  607.  Purchase.  "Acquisition  of  any  kind  and  by  any  means  " 
(Schmidt).  In  Cymb.  i.  4.  91,  the  word  is  used,  as  here,  in  the  sense  of 
"  ill-gotten  gains."  Is  there  any  word  in  the  line  which  includes  the 
sense  of  baek  ?  Why,  then,  was  the  word  added  ?  Can  you  find  any 
other  instances  of  the  sort  ? 

35  608.  The  curls.  Note  the  indirect  description.  What  character- 
istic in  Comus  does  this  detail  bring  out .? 

35  610.     Emprise.     Enterprise. 

35  611.     Stead.     Help,  service. 

35  617.    Utmost  shifts.     See  on  273. 

35  619-628.  A  certain  shepherd  lad,  etc.  There  is  probably  a  refer- 
ence here  to  Charles  Diodati,  Milton's  bosom  friend,  whose  death  in  1638 
inspired  the  Epitaphium  Damonis.  On  Diodati's  botanical  knowledge, 
see  E.  D.  1 50-1 54. 

35  620.     To  see  to.     To  look  at ;  ef.  Ezekiel  xxiii.  15. 

35  621.     Virtuous.     See  on  //  P.  113. 


NOTES.  105 

35  626.     Scrip.     Wallet,  small  bag. 

35  627.     Simples.     Medicinal  herbs;  cf.  R.  and  J.  v.  i.  40. 
35  630.     But.     Effect  of  using  this  word  here,  and  in  632,  633  'i 
35  633.     Bore.     Subject? 

35  634.     Like.     Correspondingly. 

36  635.  Clouted  shoon.  Shoes  "having  the  sole  protected  with 
iron  plates,  or  studded  with  large-headed  nails  "  {New  Eng.  Diet)  ;  but 
the  meaning  may  also  be  *'  shoes  mended  with  clouts  or  patches." 
Cf.  2  Hen.    VI.  iv.  2.   195. 

36  636.  Moly.  Cf.  Odyssey  x.  281  e(  seq.,  but  especially  302-306: 
"  Therewith  the  slayer  of  Argos  gave  me  the  plant  that  he  had  plucked 
from  the  ground,  and  he  showed  me  the  growth  thereof.  It  was  black 
at  the  root,  but  the  flower  was  like  to  milk.  Moly  the  gods  call  it,  but 
it  is  hard  for  mortal  men  to  dig  ;  howbeit  with  the  gods  all  things  are 
possible  "  (Butcher  and  Lang).  Ulysses  used  the  plant  as  an  antidote 
against  Circe's  spells.     How  do  you  scan  this  line  ? 

36  638.  Haemony.  There  may  be  here  a  reference  to  Hcemonia,  an 
old  name  for  Thessaly,  the  land  of  magic.  For  Coleridge's  explanation 
of  the  name,  as  well  as  for  his  very  curious  allegorical  interpretation 
of  11.  629-641,  see  Letters  of  S.  T.  Coleridge  (Houghton),  Vol.  I.  pp. 
406-407. 

36  639.  Sovran.  '*  Supremely  medicinal  and  efficacious  "  (Schmidt) ; 
as  often  in  Shakspere. 

36  640.     Mildew  blast.     Cf  Ham.  iii.  4.  64. 

36  641.  Furies.  See  Class.  Diet. ;  Verity,  however,  interprets  "  evil 
fairies."     Apparition  ;  five  syllables. 

36  642.    Little  reckoning  made.     Cf  Lye.  116. 

36  646.  Lime-twigs.  Snares ;  literally  twigs  smeared  with  bird- 
lime for  catching  birds.  Shakspere  uses  the  word  in  2  Hen.  VI.  iii. 
3.16. 

36  649.     Necromancer.     Etymological  meaning.? 

36  650-652.  With  dauntless  hardihood,  etc.  So  Ulysses  sprang 
upon  Circe  with  a  drawn  sword  {Odyssey  x.  321-322),  and  so  Gunyon 
broke  the  glass  of  Acrasia  {E.  Q.  ii.  12.  57). 

36  653.     But  seize  his  wand.     Cf  Temp.  iii.  2.  95-103. 

36  655.     Vomit  smoke.     Cf  Virgil,  ^neidvm.  252-253  : 

Faucibus  ingentem  futnum^  mirabile  dictu^ 
Evotnit ; 

which  is  said  of  the  giant  Cacus,  one  of  the  sons  of  Vulcan. 


106  NOTES. 

36-37  659-665.  Nay,  Lady,  etc.  See  Gamett,  Milton,  p.  54,  for  a 
simUar  train  of  thought  in  Calderon's  Magico  Prodigioso,  which  was 
acted  in  1637  but  unknown  to  Milton.  A  writer  in  the  New  Monthly 
Magazine,  Vol.  VII.  p.  227,  objects  that  in  the  dialogue  between  Comus 
and  the  Lady  (659-813),  "  Comus  .  .  .  has  the  poetry,  and  the  lady  the 
metaphysics."  Do  you  see  any  objection  to  this .?  Was  there  any  way 
to  avoid  this  ? 

37  661.  Daphne.  Daphne,  pursued  by  Apollo,  was,  at  her  own 
request,  changed  into  a  laurel  tree.  See  Class.  Diet. ;  note  the  inver- 
sion in  this  passage. 

37  664.     This  corporal  rind.     "  This  fleshly  nook,"  //  P.  92. 

37  665.     While.     So  long  as. 

37  612-61S.  And  first,  etc.  For  arrangement  of  lines  in  Cambridge 
MS.,  see  Verity. 

37  672.  Julep.  Look  up  etymological  meaning  of  Julep  and  syrup 
(674). 

37  673.    His.     Its. 

37  675-678.  Not  that  Nepenthes,  etc.  Cf.  Odyssey  iv.  220  et  seq. : 
"Presently  she  [Helen]  cast  a  drug  into  the  wine  whereof  they 
drank,  a  drug  to  lull  all  pain  and  anger,  and  bring  forgetfulness  of 
every  sorrow.  Whoso  should  drink  a  draught  thereof,  when  it  is 
mingled  in  the  bowl,  on  that  day  he  would  let  no  tear  fall  down  his 
cheeks,  not  though  his  mother  and  his  father  died,  not  though  men 
slew  his  brother  or  dear  son  with  the  sword  before  his  face,  and  his 
own  eyes  beheld  it.  Medicines  of  such  virtue  and  so  helpful  had  the 
daughter  of  Zeus,  which  Polydamna,  the  wife  of  Thon,  had  given  her, 
a  woman  of  Egypt"  (Butcher  and  Lang).  In  his  note  to  Odyssey  iv. 
220,  Merry  says  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  this  drug  {(pdpjxaKov)  was. 
"  Plutarch  thought  it  only  symbolised  the  glamour  of  Helen's  elo- 
quence :  many  moderns  think  it  refers  to  opium."  See  what  Spenser 
says  of  the  drink,  F.  Q.  iv.  3.  43. 

37  679.     Why  should  you,  etc.     Cf.  Shakspere,  Sonnets  i.  8. 

37  680.    Which  Nature  lent.     Cf.  M.for  M.  i.  i.  37-41. 

37  685.  Unexempt  condition.  Condition  from  which  no  one  is 
exempt.     Condition  is  a  quadrisyllable. 

37  686.  Mortal  frailty.  "Weak  mortals:  abstract  for  concrete" 
(Bell). 

37  688.     That.     The  antecedent  is  ^<7«  (682). 

38  694.     Aspects.     Pronounce  ;  cf.  R.  of  L.  452. 

38  695.     Oughly-headed.     "  So  in  both  Milton's  editions  "  (Masson). 


NOTES.  107 

38  698.     Vizared  falsehood.     Explain. 

38  700.     Liquorish.     Lickerish,  tempting  to  the  taste. 

38  702-703.  None,  etc.  Newton  traces  this  thought  to  Euripides, 
Medea  6i8. 

38  707.  Budge.  "  Solemn  in  demeanour,  important-looking,  pomp- 
ous, stiff,  formal  "  {New  Eng.  Diet),  though  Murray  suggests  that 
possibly  "  budge  doctor  may  have  originally  meant  one  who  wore  budge 
fur."     This  last  consisted  of  lamb's  skin  with  the  wool  dressed  outwards. 

38  708.  Cynic  tub.  The  allusion  is  to  the  tub  of  Diogenes,  the 
cynic  philosopher  of  Athens.  L.  709  explains  the  reason  of  Comus's 
opposition  to  the  Stoics  and  Cynics. 

38  719.     Hutched.     Shut  up  as  in  a  hutch. 

39  721.     Pulse.     Peas,  beans,  lentils,  etc.  ;   Cf.  Daniel  i.  8-16. 

39  722.  Frieze.  A  coarse  woolen  cloth  with  a  shaggy  nap  on  one 
side. 

39  729.     Strangled.     Suffocated;  cf.  R.  and  J.  iv.  3.  35. 

39  730.     Plumes.     Wings. 

39  732.  O'erfraught.  Over-freighted,  over-loaded ;  cf.  Macb.  iv.  3. 
210. 

39-40  739-755.  Beauty  is  Nature's  coin,  etc.  The  editors  cite 
many  parallel  passages  from  the  old  poets.  To  take  Shakspere  alone, 
cf.  Sonnets  i.-xvii.,  V.  and  A.  163-174,  M.  N.  D.'\.  i.  76-78,  and  R.  and  J. 
i.  I.  221-226. 

39  743.     If  you,  etc.     Scan  this  line. 

39  747.     Most.     The  largest  number  of  people. 

39  749.  They  had,  etc.  Cf.  325;  see  on  322.  Complexions ;  a 
quadrisyllable. 

40  750.  Grain.  Color  ;  see  on  //  P.  2,Z-  What  figure  do  you  find 
in  this  line  .■' 

40  751.  Sampler.  Cf.  M.  N.  D.  iii.  2.  203-205.  Tease,  comb  or 
card ;  a  term  drawn  from  the  art  of  cloth-manufacture. 

40  752.     Vermeil-tinctured.     Vermilion-colored. 

40  753.  Love-darting  eyes.  There  is  nothing  original  in  this  line. 
Sylvester  had  used  "  love-darting  Eyn  " ;  Homer  also  had  applied  the 
epithet  "fair-tressed  "  (ivirXdKafios)  to  Dawn,  Odyssey  v.  390. 

40  755.  You  are  but  young  yet.  "  Not  only  is  j^/  an  expletive,  and 
makes  the  verse  inharmonious,  but  the  syllables  young  and  yet  com- 
ing together  would  of  themselves  be  intolerable  anywhere  "  (Landor). 
Landor  thinks  he  detects  elsewhere  an  occasional  unnecessary  word, 
as,  for  example,  in  11.  601,  610,  etc. 


108  NOTES. 

40  756-761.     I  had  not,  etc.     Spoken  aside. 

40  758.     As  mine  eyes.     What  should  be  supplied  after  as  ? 

40  759.  Pranked  in  reason's  garb.  Hunter  facetiously  remarks 
that  "  Milton  had  become  a  modern  poet  when  he  wrote  *  Thus  Belial, 
with  words  clothed  in  reason's  garb.' "     P.  L.  ii.  226. 

40  760.  Bolt.  Refine  ;  the  metaphor  is  from  milling.  Cf.  Cor.  iii. 
I.  322. 

40  763.  As  if  she  would,  etc.  For  lines  on  the  same  model,  cf. 
P.  L.  ix.  249,  P.  P.  i.  302,  S.  A.  868  ;  also  see  De  Quincey,  Works 
(Masson),  Vol.  XI.  p.  467,  note. 

40  767.     Spare  Temperance.     C/.  Z//'.  46;  contrast  721,  above. 

40  768-774.     If  every  just  man,  etc.     Cf.  Lear  iv.  i.  67-74  (Todd). 

40  773.  In  unsuperfluous,  etc.  Scan  the  line,  msiking  proportion  a 
quadrisyllable. 

40-41  779-806.  Shall  I  go  on,  etc.  Wanting  in  Cambridge  and 
Bridge-water  MSS. 

40-41  780-799.  To  him  that  dares,  etc.  Another  recurrence,  as 
Masson  points  out,  to  the  leading  doctrine  of  the  masque.  See  on 
420-475. 

41  783.  Yet  to  what  end?  Note  the  use  of  the  Rhetorical 
question.     Find  other  instances. 

41  784.     Thou  hast  nor  ear.    See  on  997.   Nor . . .  nor,  neither . . .  nor. 

41  785.     Sublime.     See  on  4. 

41  791.  Fence.  Art  of  fencing ;  referring,  of  course,  to  the  power  of 
fencing  with  words. 

41  792-799. V  Thou  art  not  fit,  etc.  "  What  a  magnificent  passage! 
how  little  poetry  in  any  language  is  comparable  to  this,  which  closes 
the  lady's  reply,  .  .  .  This  is  worthy  of  Shakespeare  himself  in  his 
highest  mood,  and  is  unattained  and  unattainable  by  any  other  poet. 
What  a  transport  of  enthusiasm !  what  a  burst  of  harmony !  He 
who  writes  one  sentence  equal  to  this,  will  have  reached  a  higher  rank 
in  poetry  than  any  has  done  since  this  was  written  "  (Landor). 

41  793.  UncontroUM.  Uncontrollable,  and  hence  irresistible ;  as 
in  Shakspere. 

41  797.  Brute  Earth.  A  translation  of  bruta  tellus,  Horace,  Odes 
i.  34.  9  (Warton). 

41  800-806.  She  fables  not,  etc.  Spoken  aside.  Fables ;  cf. 
I  Hen.    VI.  iv.  2.  42. 

41  802.  And,  though,  etc.  Scan  this  line;  note  the  transferred 
epithet. 


NOTES.  109 

41  804.  Erebus.  See  Class.  Diet.  ;  on  the  whole  passage,  see  on 
//  P.  30. 

41  808.  Canon  laws  of  our  foundation.  There  is  an  evident 
incongruity  in  Comus's  application  of  what  Keightley  has  called  "  the 
language  of  universities  and  other  foundations."  Warburton  was  so 
impressed  with  this  fact  that  he  wrote  "  Canon  laws,  a  joke  !  " 

41  809-810.  Lees,  etc.  Todd  quotes  Nash,  Terrors  of  the  Night 
(1594):  "The  grossest  part  of  our  blood  is  the  melancholy  humour; 
which,  in  the  spleen  congealed  (whose  office  it  is  to  displace  it),  with 
his  thick-steaming  fenny  vapours  casts  a  mist  over  the  spirit.  ...  It 
[melancholy]  sinketh  down  to  the  bottom  like  the  lees  of  the  wine, 
corrupteth  all  the  blood,  and  is  the  cause  of  lunacy."  Cf.  S.  A.  599  et 
seq.y  Burton,  Anatomy  of  Melaneholy,  passim. 

41  811.     Straight.     See  on  VAl.  69. 

42  813.  The  Brothers  rush,  etc.  In  the  Cambridge  and  Bridgewater 
MSS.,  the  Attendant  Spirit  comes  in  with  the  brothers,  but  his  entrance 
after  the  escape  of  Comus  is  more  in  keeping  with  the  chiding  that  follows. 

42  814.  Have  you  let,  etc.  How  does  the  escape  of  Comus  help 
Milton's  plot  ? 

42  815.     Ye  should,  etc.     See  653. 

42  816-817.  Without  his  rod  reversed,  etc.  The  traditional  method 
of  undoing  the  effects  of  enchantment;  Warton  quotes  Ovid,  Met. 
xiv.  299-301,  F.  Q.  iii.  12.  30  et  Uq. 

42  822.  Meliboeus.  Spenser  is  probably  meant,  since  he  told  the 
legend  of  Sabrina  {F.  Q.  ii,  10.  14-19)  and  answers  to  the  description  in 
the  next  line.  Some,  however,  take  Melibceus  to  be  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, from  whose  Historia  Regum  Britanniae  (1147)  Milton  after- 
wards drew  the  story  for  his  own  History  of  Britain  (1670).  If  this 
be  so,  what  follows  is  sarcasm,  for  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  was  not  a 
shepherd  (poet),  and  was  anything  but  the  soothest  of  men.  The  name 
Melibceus  is  taken  from  pastoral  poetry. 

42  823.     Soothest.     Truest ;  look  up  etymology. 

42  825.     Moist  curb.     Why  the  epithet  ? 

42  826.  Sabrina.  The  following  is  the  version  in  Milton's  History 
of  Britain:  "Among  the  spoils  of  [Humber's]  camp  and  navy,  were 
found  certain  young  maids,  and  Estrildis  above  the  rest,  passing  fair, 
the  daughter  of  a  king  in  Germany;  from  whence  Humber,  as  he  went 
wasting  the  seacoast,  had  led  her  captive  :  whom  Locrine,  though  before 
contracted  to  the  daughter  of  Corineus,  resolves  to  marry.  But  being 
forced  and  threatened   by  Corineus,  whose   authority  and    power  he 


no  NOTES. 

feared,  Gwendolen  the  daughter  he  yields  to  marry,  but  in  secret  loves 
the  other :  and  of ttimes  retiring,  as  to  some  private  sacrifice,  through 
vaults  and  passages  made  under  ground,  and  seven  years  thus  enjoying 
her,  had  by  her  a  daughter  equally  fair,  whose  name  was  Sabra.  But 
when  once  his  fear  was  off  by  the  death  of  Corineus,  not  content  with 
secret  enjoyment,  divorcing  Gwendolen,  he  makes  Estrildis  now  his 
queen.  Gwendolen,  all  in  a  rage,  departs  into  Cornwall,  where  Madan, 
the  son  she  had  by  Locrine,  was  hitherto  brought  up  by  Corineus  his 
grandfather.  And  gathering  an  army  of  her  father's  friends  and  sub- 
jects, gives  battle  to  her  husband  by  the  river  Sture;  wherein  Locrine, 
shot  with  an  arrow,  ends  his  life.  But  not  so  ends  the  fury  of  Gwen- 
dolen ;  for  Estrildis,  and  her  daughter  Sabra,  she  throws  into  a  river : 
and,  to  leave  a  moment  of  revenge,  proclaims  that  the  stream  be  thence- 
forth called  after  the  damsel's  name ;  which,  by  length  of  time,  is 
changed  now  to  Sabrina,  or  Severn." — Prose  Works  of  Milton  (Phila- 
delphia, 1856),  Vol.  II.  p.  203. 

42  832.     His.     Its. 

42  835.     Nereus.     See  Class.  Diet. 

42  836.     Lank.     Drooping. 

43  838.  Nectared  lavers.  Explain.  ^j/>^(?^z7;  in  Greek  mythology. 
Asphodel  was  the  pale  flower  of  Hades  and  the  dead ;  in  modern  times, 
we  have  daffodil  and  daffy downdilly  corrupted  from  asphodil. 

43  839.     Porch.     Cf.  Ham.  i.  5.  63.  * 

43  841.    A  quick  immortal  change.     See  on  10. 

43  845.  Urchin  blasts.  Blights  (upon  com,  cattle,  etc.)  sent  by 
the  hedgehog,  or,  possibly,  since  mischievous  elves  were  supposed  to 
assume  the  shape  of  the  hedgehog,  the  injuries  done  by  bad  fairies. 
Cf  Temp.  ii.  2.  1-14. 

43  846.  The  shrewd  meddling  elf.  "  Hardly  Robin  Goodfellow, 
but  one  of  his  fraternity"  (Masson).     See  on  UAL  105. 

43  850.  Throw  sweet  garland  wreaths,  etc.  Cf.  Spenser,  Protha- 
l ami  on. 

43  852.  The  old  swain.  Meliboeus  (822) ;  but  neither  Spenser  nor 
Monmouth  has  this  detail.     Drayton,  however,  says  that  Sabrina  was 

"  by  Nereus  taught,  the  most  profoundly  wise, 
That  learned  her  the  skill  of  hidden  prophecies, 
By  Thetis'  special  care"  {Polyolbion,  fifth  song). 

43  863.  Amber-dropping  hair.  "  Hair  of  amber  color  with  the 
waterdrops  falling  through  it "  (Masson). 


NOTES.  Ill 

43  865.     Goddess  of  the  silver  lake.     Cf.  842. 

44  867-889.  Listen,  etc.  Many  of  the  epithets  in  these  lines  can 
be  traced  to  classical  writers.  The  following  mythological  allusions 
may  be  noted :  Oceanus,  the  god  of  the  great  ocean-stream  which  was 
anciently  supposed  to  encircle  the  earth,  was  the  founder  of  the  older 
dynasty  of  the  sea;  Neptune,  god  of  the  sea  after  Saturn  was  over- 
thrown, was  the  founder  of  the  younger  dynasty ;  Tethys  was  the  wife 
of  Oceanus ;  Nereus  was  the  father  of  the  Nereids ;  the  Carpathian 
wizard  was  Proteus,  who  had  the  prophetic  gift  and  could  change  his 
shape  at  will ;  Triton,  the  son  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  was  the 
trumpeter  of  the  ocean,  and  with  his  sea-shell  could  stir  up  or  allay 
the  waves  ;  Glauctts  was  the  Boeotian  fisherman,  who,  having  eaten  a 
certain  herb,  was  changed  into  a  sea-god  with  prophetic  powers; 
Leucothea  was  Ino,  the  daughter  of  Cadmus,  and  who,  in  order  to 
escape  her  mad  husband  Athamas,  plunged  into  the  sea  with  her  son 
Melicertes  and  became  a  sea-goddess  ;  her  son  was  the  above-mentioned 
Melicertes  who,  after  he  became  a  sea-god,  was  called  Palaemon  ;  Thetis, 
one  of  the  daughters  of  Nereus,  is  best  known  as  the  mother  of  Achilles ; 
the  Sirens  were  those  whose  sweet  singing  drew  seafarers  to  their 
destruction;  Parthenope  and  Ligea  were  sirens  (see  on  253). 

44  880.  Ligea's  golden  comb.  Keightley  observes  that  the  comb 
belongs  to  the  mermaids  of  the  Northern  mythology,  rather  than  to  the 
sirens  of  Greek  mythology. 

44  891.     Grows.     See  on  Lye.  7. 

44  893.     Azurn.     Azure  ;  the  form  seems  to  be  peculiar  to  Milton. 

44  894.     Turkis.     Turquoise. 

45  897.  Printless  feet.  Cf.  Temp.  v.  i.  34.  The  idea  of  a  light 
tread  is  a  common  one  in  poetry. 

45  898.     Velvet  head.     Cf.  Fletcher,  The  Faithful  Shepherdess  ii.  i : 

"  See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is ; 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads." 

As  Browne  notes,  there  are  many  resemblances  between  this  part  of 
Comus  and  Fletcher's  Faithful  Shepherdess. 

45  904.    To  undo,  etc.     Cf.  852-853. 

45  914.  Thrice.  Masson  quotes  Browne's  Inner  Temple  Masque, 
where  Circe  rouses  Ulysses  from  sleep : 


112  NOTES. 

"  Thrice  I  charge  thee  by  my  wand ; 
Thrice  with  moly  from  my  hand 
Do  I  touch  Ulysses'  eyes,"  etc. 

On  the  use  of  odd  numbers,  see  my  edition  of   The  Ancient  Mariner 
(The  Macmillan  Company),  pp.  72-73. 

45  916.     This  marble  venomed  seat.     See  stage-direction  at  658. 

45  919.     His.     Its. 

45  921.     Amphitrite.     The  wife  of  Neptune ;  see  on  867-889. 

45  923.  Anchises'  line.  Legend  had  it  that  Anchises  was  the 
father  of  ^neas,  who  was  the  father  of  Ascanius,  who  was  the  father 
of  Silvius,  who  was  the  father  of  Brutus  (see  828),  who  was  the 
father  of  Locrine. 

46  924-937.  May  thy  brimmed  waves,  etc.  "  The  whole  of  this 
poetical  blessing  on  the  Severn  and  its  neighbourhood,  involving  at  the 
end,  though  in  purposely  gorgeous  language,  the  wish  of  what  we  should 
call  '  solid  commercial  prosperity,'  would  go  to  the  heart  of  the  assem- 
blage at  Ludlow  "  (Masson).  Note  the  beauty  and  effectiveness  of  the 
epithet  brimmed. 

46  927.     The  snowy  hills.     The  Welsh  mountains. 
46  929.     Thy  tresses  fair.     Alluding  to  what  ? 

46  932-937.  May  thy  billows,  etc.  "  Here  Milton's  glance  seems 
to  quiver  irregularly  along  the  course  of  the  Severn :  first  taking  it  at 
its  mouth  in  Gloucestershire,  where  it  opens  into  a  sea-firth,  and  where 
alone  it  could  be  properly  said  to  have  *  billows  ' ;  then  mounting  to  its 
*  lofty  head'  in  Welsh  Plinlimmon,  and  following  it  thence  through 
Montgomeryshire  to  Shrewsbury  and  so  through  the  rest  of  its  curve  " 
(Masson).  The  construction  of  the  last  two  lines  is  difficult,  but  the 
thought  probably  is :  "  And  may  thy  head  be  crowned  here  and  there 
upon  thy  banks  with  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon."  The  reader 
should  keep  in  mind  both  the  literal  and  figurative  signification  of  the 
whole  speech. 

47  956.  The  stars  grow  high.  Explain.  Note  the  time  indicated 
in  1.  957.     Is  there  any  reason  for  the  length  of  that  line  "i 

47  959.     Sun-shine  holiday.     Cf.  VAl.  98. 

47  961.  Other  trippings.  Note  the  contrast  between  the  two  styles 
of  dancest 

47  966-975.  Noble  Lord,  etc.  "  Imagine  the  cheering  when  Lawes, 
advancing  with  the  three  young  ones,  addressed  this  speech  to  the  Earl 
and  Countess  of  Bridge  water,  they  perhaps  rising  and  bowing.  When 
the  speech  was  ended,  there  was  more  dancing,  in  which  other  ladies 


NOTES.  113 

and  gentlemen,  we  are  to  suppose,  figured  with  Lady  Alice  and  her 
Brothers;  after  which  nothing  remained  but  Lawes's  Epilogue'' 
(Masson). 

47  972.    Assays.     Trials. 

48  976-979.  To  the  ocean,  etc.  For  rhythm  and  rhyme,  Masson 
compares  Temp.  v.  i.  88-91.  There  seems  to  be  a  kindred  between 
Milton's  Attendant  Spirit,  as  he  is  represented  in  this  portion  of  the 
Masque  (976-1023),  and  Shakspere's  Ariel  {Temp.)  and  Puck  {M.  N. 
D.). 

48  979.  The  broad  fields  of  the  sky.  Cf.  Virgil,  ^neid  vi.  888 : 
Aeris  in  campis  latis  (Warton). 

48  982-983.  The  gardens,  etc.  See  on  393;  the  numbers  and 
names  of  the  daughters  of  Hesperus  are  variously  given.  Golden  tree  ; 
Milton  may  call  the  tree  golden  merely  because  of  the  fruit  {cf.  394), 
but  if  he  means  the  tree  itself  he  has  Ovid  {Met.  iv.  637)  as  his 
authority. 

48  984.  CrispM.  Curled ;  by  the  wind  ruffling  the  leaves.  Cf.  P.  L. 
iv.  237.  Elton,  however,  suggests  that  the  idea  may  be  "curled  ,  .  . 
as  in  spring,  when  the  leaves  are  unfolding." 

48  990.  Cedarn.  First  used  by  Milton  ;  the  word  has  been  used 
with  fine  effect  by  some  modern  poets,  as,  for  example,  by  Coleridge,  in 
Kubla  Khan,  by  Tennyson,  in  Recollections  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  by 
Arnold,  in  The  New  Sirens,  and  by  Whittier,  in  The  Poet  and  the 
Children. 

48  992.  Bow.  The  rainbow,  of  which  Iris  was  the  goddess.  See 
on  83. 

48  993.     Blow.     Cause  to  bloom ;  more  frequently  used  as  in  Lye.  48. 

48  995.     Purfled.     Define. 

48  997.  If  your  ears  be  true.  If  your  ears  be  attuned  ;  cf.  Arcades 
']2-yT„M.ofV.v.  1.64-65. 

48  999-1000.  Where  young  Adonis,  etc.  Adonis,  who  was  beloved 
of  Venus,  identified  below  with  the  Assyrian  queen,  Astarte,  was  said  to 
have  been  slain  by  a  wild  boar.  There  also  seems  to  be  a  reference 
here  to  the  Garden  of  Adonis,  described  with  so  much  beauty  in  the 
F.  Q.  iii.  6.  29  et  seq.,  and  referred  to  later  by  Milton  in  P.  L.  ix.  439- 
441 .     Cf.  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis  and  Shakspere's  Venus  and  Adonis. 

49  1005.  Psyche.  For  the  myth  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  and  its 
allegorical  interpretation,  see  Class.  Diet.  See  Beers,  IList.  of  Eng. 
Rom.,  p.  16;  a  number  of  valuable  references  will  be  found  in  Gayley, 
Classic  Myths  in  English  Literature. 


114  NOTES. 

49  1011.  Youth  and  Joy.  Later  in  life,  when  Milton  wrote  his 
Apology  for  Smectymnuus,  he  made  "  Knowledge  and  Virtue  "  the  off- 
spring of  Psyche's  divine  generation. 

49  1015.     Bowed  welkin.     Arched  sky. 

49  1016-1017.  And  from  thence,  etc.  Cf.  M.  N.  D.  iv.  i.  101-102, 
ii.  I.  175;  Macb.  iii.  5.  23-25. 

49  1017.     Corners.     Horns  (Latin  cornua). 

49  1021.  The  sphery  chime.  The  music  of  the  spheres;  on  this 
peculiar  use  of  the  adjective,  which  is  common  enough  in  Shakspere, 
see  Schmidt,  p.  141 5  et  seq. 

49  1022-1023.  Or,  if  Virtue,  etc.  When  at  Geneva  in  1639,  Milton 
wrote  the  following  autograph  (all  in  his  own  hand  except  the  date)  in 
an  album  : 

''  —  if  Vertue  feeble  were 
Heaven  it  selfe  would  stoope  to  her. 
Caelum  non  animum  muto  dum  trans  mare  curro. 

Joannes  Miltonius. 
Junii  10,  1639.  Anglus." 

"  If  we  combine  the  English  lines  with  the  Latin  addition,  it  is  as  if  he 
said  *  The  closing  words  of  my  own  Comus  are  a  permanent  maxim 
vidth  me'"  (Masson). 


NOTES.  115 


LYCIDAS. 


Lycidas  was  written  to  commemorate  the  death  of  Edward  King,  one 
of  Milton's  friends  at  Cambridge.  His  father,  Sir  John  King,  was  a 
member  of  the  Privy  Council  of  Ireland  and  Secretary  of  the  Irish 
Viceregal  Government.  Although  Edward  King  proved  to  be  a  young 
man  of  considerable  promise,  it  is  quite  probable  that  no  small  part  of 
his  popularity  at  Christ's  College,  where  he  was  admitted  June  9,  1626, 
as  well  as  of  his  success  in  securing  a  Fellowship,  assigned  to  him  by  a 
royal  mandate  June  10,  1630,  was  due  to  his  high  social  standing.  The 
Fellowship,  in  fact,  would  very  likely  have  gone  to  Milton,  if  the  matter 
had  been  decided  according  to  merit.  King  took  the  degree  of  M.A. 
in  July,  1633,  became  a  Tutor  in  his  college,  and  was  *' praelector  "  in 
1634-1635.  In  the  summer  vacation  of  1637,  he  prepared  to  go  by 
ship  from  Chester  Bay  to  Dublin.  But  the  vessel  had  proceeded  only 
a  short  distance  when  it  struck  a  rock  and  went  down.  Among  the 
passengers  who  were  drowned  —  and  only  a  few  seem  to  have  escaped 
—  was  Edward  King. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year,  when  King's  friends  learned  of  his  death, 
it  was  proposed  to  issue  from  the  university  press  a  volume  of  memorial 
verses.  To  this  end  Milton  wrote  Lycidas  in  November,  1637,  although 
the  volume  itself  did  not  appear  until  1638.  The  book  was  made  up 
of  two  parts,  the  one  containing  twenty-three  pieces  in  Latin  and  Greek, 
and  the  other,  thirteen  in  EngHsh.  Last  of  all  came  Milton's  poem, 
signed  with  only  the  poet's  initials,  "  J.  M."  Prefixed  to  the  Latin  and 
Greek  portion  of  the  volume  there  was  an  account  in  Latin  of  the 
manner  of  King's  death.  Here  is  a  portion  of  Masson's  translation  of 
it :  "  Edward  King  (son  of  John,  knight,  and  Privy  Councillor  for  the 
Kingdom  of  Ireland  to  their  Majesties,  Elizabeth,  James,  and  Charles), 
Fellow  of  Christ's  College  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  happy  in 
the  consciousness  and  in  the  fame  of  piety  and  erudition,  and  one  in 
whom  there  was  nothing  immature  except  his  age,  was  on  a  voyage  to 
Ireland,  drawn  by  natural  affection  to  visit  his  native  country,  his  rela- 
tives and  his  friends,  .  .  .  when,  the  ship  in  which  he  was  having  struck 
on  a  rock,  not  far  from  the  British  coast,  and  being  stove  in  by  the 
shock,  he,  while  the  other  passengers  were  fruitlessly  busy  about  their 
mortal  lives,  having  fallen  on  his  knees,  and  breathing  a  life  which 
was  immortal,  in  the  act  of  prayer  going  down  with  the  vessel,  rendered 


116  NOTES. 

up  his  soul  to  God,  Aug.  lo,  1637,  aged  25."  ^  Lycidas  was  reprinted 
in  the  1647  ^"^^  ^^IZ  editions  of  Milton's  poems,  and  in  1645  ^^  sub- 
title, "  In  this  Monody,"  etc.,  was  first  added. 

50  1.  Yet  once  more.  Milton  had  not,  so  far  as  is  known,  written 
any  poetry  since  Comus  (1634),  but  whether  the  present  phrase  refers 
merely  to  Comus,  or  to  his  previous  elegiac  poems,  or  is  simply  a  sort 
of  formula  to  signify  the  beginning  of  a  new  poem,  we  can  only  conjec- 
ture. The  laurel,  the  myrtle,  and  the  ivy  seem  to  be  symbolical  of 
poetry  in  general,  although  some  editors  give  to  each  plant  a  particular 
significance.  It  has  also  been  observed  that,  as  the  plants  are  ever- 
greens, they  may  be  regarded  as  emblems  of  immortality.  What  reason 
can  you  assign  for  the  omission  of  the  rhyme  in  11.  i,  13,  15,  22,  39 
51,  82,  91,  92,  161  }  What  other  peculiarity  do  you  notice  about  the 
rhymes  in  this  poem  ? 

50  2.  Brown.  Dusky,  dark;  cf.  II  P.  134.  See  Ruskin,  Modern 
Painters,  Vol.  III.  chap.  15.  Sere,  dry;  cf.  Shakspere's  exquisite  use  of 
the  word  in  Macb.  v.  3.  23. 

50  3.     Crude.     Unripe. 

50  4.     Forced.     Unwilling;  explained  in  6-7. 

50  5.  Shatter.  Scatter.  Before  the  mellowing  year ;  here,  as  in 
the  last  two  lines,  Milton  alludes  to  his  own  lack  of  "  inward  ripeness  " 
(see  sonnet  written  at  the  age  of  twenty-three)  for  undertaking  the  high 
calling  of  poet,  which  from  various  sources  we  know  he  regarded  with 
a  veneration  that  fell  little  short  of  worship.  He  even  emphasizes  this 
thought  to  the  neglect  of  his  figure,  which,  if  curiously  examined,  will 
be  found  wanting  in  accuracy. 

50  6.  Sad  occasion  dear.  For  the  word  order,  see  on  VAl.  40. 
The  sad  occasion  is  probably  called  dear  because  it  touches  the  poet 
"  nearly."  This  meaning  of  the  word  is  common  enough  in  Elizabethan 
English,  and  we  often  find  it  applied  to  that  which  is  disagreeable,  as, 
for  example,  in  Ham.  i.  2.  182. 

50  7.  Compels.  On  the  use  of  a  singular  verb  vsdth  two  singular 
nouns  as  subject,  see  Abbott,  §  336.     Due,  proper. 

50  8.  Lycidas.  In  taking  a  name  from  ancient  pastoral  poetry  {cf. 
Theocritus,  Idyl  vii.,  Virgil,  Eclogue  ix.)  and  applying  it  to  his  friend, 
Edward  King,  Milton  adopts  the  conventional  method  of  treating  his 

1  Another  account,  quoted  by  Todd  from  a  preface  by  W.  Hogg  (1694),  stated  "  that 
'  some  escaped  in  the  boat,'  and  that  they  vainly  tried  to  get  King  into  it,  so  that  he  and 
the  rest  were  drowned,  '  except  those  only  who  escaped  in  the  boat '  "  (Jerram). 


NOTES.  117 

subject.  Ere  his  prime  ;  being  only  twenty-five  years  old.  Note  the 
repetition  in  this  and  the  succeeding  verse  ;  cf.  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant 
25-26,  and  Spenser,  Astrophel  7-8: 

"  Young  Astrophel,  the  pride  of  shepheards  praise, 
Young  Astrophel,  the  rusticke  lasses  love." 

50  10.  Who  would  not  sing,  etc.  Cf  Virgil,  Eclogue  x.  3 :  neget 
quis  carmina  Gallo  ?     He  knew  ;  cf.  C.  87. 

50  11.  Rhyme.  Verse.  Only  a  few  Latin  pieces  written  by  King 
have  come  down  to  us,  and  they  are  said  not  to  justify  the  praise  here 
accorded  him ;  but  Milton  may  have  seen  other  specimens  of  his  com- 
position of  which  we  know  nothing.  On  this  subject,  see  Masson,  Vol. 
I.  pp.  188-189.  For  the  metaphor,  Newton  compares  Horace,  Epist.  i. 
3.  24  :  seti  condis  amabile  carmen,  and  Ilurd  compares  Euripides,  Suppli- 
ces  998  :  dotSds  iwipywae  (quoted  by  Masson). 

50  13.     Welter  to.     Explain. 

50  14.  Melodious  tear.  Melody  accompanied  by  tears.  As  tear 
was  not  infrequently  used  of  elegiac  poems,  the  epithet  melodious  may 
properly  describe  it.  Cf  Milton's  Epitaph  on  the  Marchioness  of  Win- 
chester 55,  and  Spenser's  The  Teares  of  the  Muses.  The  present  line 
has  been  frequently  imitated  by  poets  since  Milton. 

50  15.  Begin,  then,  etc.  This  invocation  of  the  Muses  is  in  the 
customary  manner  of  pastoral  poets.  Well,  spring;  in  this  case,  the 
Pierian  spring  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Olympus  in  Thessaly  seems  to  be 
meant.  Mt.  Olympus  was  the  Homeric  abode  {seat^  of  Jove  and  the 
birthplace  of  the  nine  Muses,  or  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well.  But  see 
Jerram  and  Hales. 

50  17.  Somewhat  loudly,  etc.  Cf  Drummond,  Elegy  on  Gustavus 
Adolphus  (quoted  by  Todd) : 

"  Speak  it  again,  and  louder  louder  yet ; 
Else  while  we  hear  the  sound  we  shall  forget 
What  it  delivers." 

Explain  the  figurative  use  of  string. 

50  19.     Muse.     Poet. 

50  20.  My  destined  urn.  "  I  have  ventured  to  italicise  the  word 
my  in  this  passage,  to  bring  out  fully  the  meaning  "  (Masson).  Urn, 
tomb;  cf.  Cor.  v.  6.  146.  The  word,  however,  may  be  used  in  its  ordi- 
nary sense  of  "a  receptacle  for  the  ashes  of  the  dead."  Lucky  words ; 
explain. 


118  NOTES. 

50  22.  Shroud.  Winding-sheet,  although  others  variously  inter- 
pret it  "grave"  (Dunster,  referred  to  by  Todd),  "coffin"  (Hales),  or 
"  the  darkness  in  which  I  am  shrouded  "  (Bell). '  The  word  is  used  by 
Milton  in  NaL  218,  C.  147,  and  P.  L.  x.  1068.  It  seems  best,  with  Todd 
and  others,  to  make  the  paragraph  end  with  this  line,  instead  of  1.  24, 
as  in  Milton's  own  editions. 

51  23-36.  For  we  were  nursed,  etc.  Under  the  guise  of  pastoral 
language  Milton  now  describes  his  companionship  with  King  at  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge.  While  this  is  a  passage  where  "  more  is  meant 
than  meets  the  ear,"  it  would  be  absurd  to  insist  on  finding  a  hidden 
meaning  in  every  pastoral  phrase.  Some  of  the  details  were  doubtless 
put  in  because  the  conventional  treatment  of  the  subject  seemed  to 
require  them. 

51  25.     Lawns.     See  on  VAl.  71. 

51  26.  The  opening  eyelids  of  the  Morn.  This  fine  phrase,  often 
repeated  or  imitated  by  other  poets,  was  traced  by  Todd  to  /od  iii.  9 
(marginal  reading) ;  also  c/.  Job  xli.  18.  Milton,  it  should  be  remem- 
bered, was  habitually  an  early  riser,  and  so  became  acquainted  with  the 
beauties  of  the  morning.  Cf.  VAl.  41-68,  P.  L.  v.  1-25,  ix,  192-200. 
Observe  how  the  other  two  periods  of  the  day  are  indicated  in  28,  29-31. 

51  27.  Drove.  Drove  our  flocks ;  but  the  verb  may  be  intransitive. 
A-field ;  See  on  VAL  20.  For  Johnson's  unappreciative  comment  on 
this  and  the  two  following  lines,  as  well  as  on  the  whole  poem,  see  his 
life  of  Milton  in  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

51  28.  What  time.  See  on  C.  291.  Grey-fly,  "  a  species  of  (Estrus, 
also  known  as  the  trumpet  fly,  from  its  sultry  horn,  or  loud  humming 
in  the  heat  of  the  day  "  (Rolfe). 

51  29.  Battening.  Fattening.  Fresh  dews,  etc. ;  Jerram  cites  Virgil, 
Eclogue  viii.  1 5,  Georgics  iii.  324-326. 

51  30-31.  Oft  till  the  star,  etc.  "The  evening  star  appears,  not 
rises,  and  is  never  anywhere  but  on  Heaven's  descent "  (Keightley, 
quoted  by  Browne).  Spenser,  however,  made  the  same  mistake  in  F.  Q. 
iii.  4.  51,  and  Jerram  finds  some  classical  authority  for  the  error.  For 
other  references  to  Hesperus,  see  Orchard,  Astronomy  of  Milton^  s  ^Par- 
adise Lost,''  pp.  277-281. 

51  32.  Rural  ditties.  If  Masson  is  right  in  interpreting  these  as 
"  academic  iambics  and  elegiacs,"  what  poems,  in  Milton's  case,  would 
they  include  ?     For  King''s  work,  see  on  11. 

51  33.  Tempered.  Attuned.  Oatejt  flute,  shepherd's  pipe ;  cf.  88, 
188,  C.  345  and  note.     Jerram  has  a  long  note  here,  in  which  he  shows 


NOTES.  119 

that  although  "  the  oaten  pipe  has  been  chosen  by  English  poets  as  the 
representative  of  pastoral  music,  the  classical  authority  for  such  usage 
is  more  than  doubtful." 

51  34.  Rough  Satyrs,  etc.  See  Class.  Diet.;  cf.  Hawthorne's 
Marble  Faun. 

51  36.  Damoetas.  Another  name  taken  from  pastoral  poetry ;  cf. 
Theocritus,  Idyl  vi.,  etc.  While  it  is  impossible  positively  to  identify 
old  Damoetas  with  any  particular  person,  most  editors  find  in  the  name 
an  allusion  to  Mr.  Chappell,  the  tutor  with  whom  Milton  had  the  trouble 
which  resulted  in  his  temporary  rustication.  If  this  is  true,  Jerram  may 
be  right  in  supposing  that  the  satyrs  and  fauns  may  represent  "  the 
wilder  and  less  studious  undergraduates  of  Christ's,"  though  this  seems 
to  be  carrying  the  interpretation  of  the  passage  to  a  dangerous  extreme. 

51  37.  But,  oh !  etc.  "  Milton,  before  making  the  echoes  mourn 
for  Lycidas,  puts  our  feelings  in  tune,  as  it  were,  and  hints  at  his  own 
imagination  as  the  source  of  this  emotion  in  inanimate  things."  — 
Lowell,  Works  (Houghton),  Vol.  IV.  p.  29. 

51  38.  Must.  "  Perhaps  there  is  a  fine  courtesy  in  the  use  of  this 
word  here  instead  of  *  mayest.'  The  poet,  having  to  say  that  his  friend 
will  never  return,  says  that,  '  he  is  not  compelled  to  return,'  rather  than 
'  he  is  not  permitted  to  return.'  Or  perhaps  must  =  art  appointed  or 
ordained  "  (Hales). 

51  39.  Thee,  Shepherd,  etc.  What  is  the  effect  of  the  repetition 
in  this  line .''     Cf.  F.  Q.  iv.  10.  44,  Virgil,  Georgics  iv.  466,  etc. 

51  40.  Gadding.  Straggling.  Browne  quotes  Marvell,  Appleton 
House:  "Curl  me  about,  ye  gadding  vines." 

51  41.  Mourn.  An  example  of  what  Ruskin  calls  the  "Pathetic 
fallacy";  see  Modern  Painters^  Vol.  III.  chap.  12. 

51  44.    Fanning.     Moving  like  fans  ;  cf  P.  L.  iv.  157. 

51  45.     Canker.     The  canker-worm;  cf  T.  G.  of  V.  i.  i.  43,  etc. 

51  47.     Wardrobe.     Explain  the  figure. 

51  48.     White-thorn.     The  hawthorn  ;  cf  VAl.  68. 

51  49.     Such.     Explain  the  force  of  this  word. 

51-52  50-55.  Where  were  ye,  etc.  In  imitation  of  Theocritus,  Idyl 
i.  66-69,  ^"^  Virgil,  Eclogue  x.  9-12.  Milton  followed  Theocritus  in 
selecting  for  the  haunts  of  the  nymphs  such  places  as  were  near  the 
scene  of  Lycidas's  disaster,  and  Virgil  in  identifying  the  nymphs  with 
the  Muses.  Of  the  two  imitations  of  Theocritus,  Virgil's  and  Milton's, 
that  of  Milton  is  immeasurably  the  superior. 

51  52.     Steep.     Probably  Kerig-y-Druidion  in  Denbighshire  (War- 


120  NOTES. 

ton),  though  Keightley  suggests  Penmaenmawr  in  Carnarvonshire,  oppo- 
site Anglesey. 

52  54.  Mona.  The  island  of  Anglesey,  in  whose  oak  groves  the 
Druids  in  olden  times  conducted  their  mystic  rites. 

52  55.  Deva.  The  river  Dee,  which  once  formed  a  part  of  the 
boundary  between  England  and  Wales,  is  called  a  wizard  stream 
because  it  was  supposed  to  be  frequented  by  wizards.  Of  the  many 
superstitions  connected  with  the  river,  one  supposed  that  it  boded  ill 
to  the  people  of  the  country  toward  which  it  changed  its  course.  On 
this  last  point,  see  Morris  and  Skeat,  Specimens  of  Early  English^  Pt. 
II.  p.  240.     Cf.  Vacation  Exercise  98. 

52  56.    Fondly.     Foolishly ;  see  on  //  P.  6. 

52  57.  For.  This  depends  on  fondly.  In  his  treatment  of  the 
figures  of  contrast,  Gummere  observes  that  "  the  most  abrupt  contrast 
arises  when  the  construction  comes  suddenly  to  an  end,  is  broken  off 
violently,  and  a  new  sentence  begins  in  a  new  direction.  The  famous 
Vergilian  example  is  where  Neptune  rebukes  the  winds,  and  begins  to 
threaten,  but  leaves  the  threat  unfinished  :  — 

'  Quos  ego  —  sed  motos  praestat  componere  fluctus.'  " 

Handbook  of  Poetics,  p.  125. 

52  58.  The  Muse.  Calliope.  For  the  story  of  Orpheus's  death,  see 
Class.  Diet. ;  the  legend  is  repeated  in  P.  L.  vii.  yi-'y). 

52  59.    Enchanting  son.     See  the  song  in  Hen.  VIII.  iii.  i.  3-14. 

62  61.    Rout.     Cf  P.  L.  i.  747. 

52  63.  Swift  Hebrus.  Milton  seems  to  have  followed  Virgil, 
./Eneid  i.  317  :  volucrem  Hebrum,  but  Servius's  remark  that  the  river 
quietissimus  est  has  led  to  a  deal  of  discussion  among  Milton's  editors. 
Lesbian  shore  ;  "  According  to  common  tradition  the  head  of  Orpheus 
was  carried  by  the  waves  to  Lesbos,  and  there  buried,  for  which  pious 
ofiice  the  Lesbians  were  rewarded  with  the  gift  of  preeminence  in  song  " 
(Jerram). 

52  64.  Boots.  Avails.  Uncessant ;  so  in  Milton's  first  and  second 
editions  (Masson).  LI.  64-84  constitute  one  of  the  two  long  digressions 
in  the  poem,  the  other  being  11.  113-131.  After  you  have  carefully 
studied  the  whole  poem,  read  again  these  two  passages,  and  try  to 
determine  whether  the  poem  would  be  the  better  or  the  worse  for 
their  omission. 

52  65.  To  tend,  etc.  To  practise  poetry;  as  Hales  notes,  the 
metaphor  is  used  in  a  different  sense  in  11 3-1 31.     Homely  ;  define. 


NOTES.  121 

52  66.  Meditate  the  .  .  .  Muse.  The  phrase  is  from  Virgil, 
Eclogue  \.  2  :  Silvestrem  tenue  musam  meditaris  avena ;  see  on  C.  547. 
Thankless^  profitless ;  some  editors,  however,  take  Muse  to  be  personi- 
fied, in  which  case  thankless  =  ungrateful. 

52  68-69.  Amaryllis  .  .  .  Neaera.  These  are  names  of  shepherd- 
esses in  pastoral  poetry.  Here  they  may  be  said  to  represent  a  life 
of  luxury  and  its  attendant  follies,  a  life  to  which  Milton,  the  advo- 
cate and  living  example  of  "  labour  and  intense  study^"  was  so  much 
opposed.  This  seems  to  me  a  more  natural  interpretation  than  that 
which  supposes  that  Milton  is  alluding  to  the  amatory  poetry  then  so 
fashionable. 

52  70.  Clear.  Illustrious,  noble  (Latin  clarus).  In  his  Adonais^ 
Shelley  speaks  of  Milton's  clear  Sprite: 

«  He  died, 
Who  was  the  Sire  of  an  immortal  strain, 
Blind,  old,  and  lonely,  when  his  country's  pride, 
The  priest,  the  slave,  and  the  liberticide. 
Trampled  and  mocked  with  many  a  loathed  rite 
Of  lust  and  blood ;  he  went,  unterrified, 
Into  the  gulf  of  death;  but  his  clear  Sprite 
Yet  reigns  o'er  earth  ;  the  third  among  the  sons  of  light." 

52  71.  That  last  infirmity,  etc.  The  sentiment  here  expressed  is 
a  common  one ;  as  one  instance  out  of  many,  cf.  Tacitus,  Hist.  iv.  6 : 
etiatn  sapientibus  cupido  gloria  novissinia  exuitur.  See  the  discussion 
on  "glory,"  P.  R.  iii.  25  et  seq. 

52  72.  To  scorn  delights,  etc.  This  line  is  admirably  descriptive 
of  Milton's  own  life. 

52  75.  The  blind  Fury.  The  poet  purposely  calls  Atropos,  one  of 
the  three  Fates,  "the  blind  Fury,"  because  in  her  indiscriminate  disre- 
gard for  the  value  of  life  she  acted  with  all  the  cruelty  of  a  Fury.  For 
the  individual  occupations  of  Atropos  and  her  sisters,  see  Class.  Diet., 
and,  if  possible,  some  reproduction  of  Michael  Angelo's  "  The  Fates." 
There  is  a  reproduction  of  the  latter  in  Gayley,  Classic  Myths. 

52  76.  Slits.  The  ordinary  meaning  ?  But  not  the  praise  ;  explain 
the  zeugma.     What  effect  is  gained  by  omitting  the  verb  ? 

52  77.     Touched  my  trembling  ears.     From  Virgil,  Eclogue  vi.  3-4 : 

Cum  canerem  reges  et  prcelia^  Cynthius  aurent 
Vellit,  et  admonuit ; 


122  NOTES. 

where  Conington  observes  that  touching  the  ear  was  a  symbolical  act, 
the  ear  being  regarded  as  the  seat  of  memory.  In  the  present  instance, 
then,  it  is  to  remind  the  poet  of  something  he  has  forgotten.  But 
Masson  thinks  Milton  alludes  to  the  "  popular  humour  that  the  tingling 
of  a  person's  ears  is  a  sign  that  somewhere  people  are  talking  of  him 
and  saying  good  or  ill  of  him  in  his  absence.  .  .  .  What  Milton  had 
been  saying  about  poetic  fame  was  evidently  applicable  to  himself 
personally,  and  would,  he  saw,  be  so  understood  by  his  readers." 

52  80.  Set  off  to  the  world.  Does  this  limit  Fame  ox  foil  ?  Show 
clearly  what  the  meaning  would  be  in  each  case.  Nor  .  .  .  nor^  neither 
.  .  .  nor. 

52  81.  By.  By  means  of;  though  some  editors  take  it  to  mean 
"hard  by,"  "near,"  "in  the  presence  of."     Spreads ;  cf.  78. 

53  85.  0  fountain  Arethuse,  etc.  Arethusa,  a  fountain  in  Sicily, 
represents  the  pastoral  poetry  written  by  Theocritus  and  other  Greek 
poets,  while  the  Mincius,  near  which  Virgil  was  born,  represents  the 
pastoral  poetry  written  by  the  Latin  poets.  For  the  pretty  myth  con- 
nected with  Arethusa,  see  Class.  Diet.  In  his  description  of  the  Min- 
cius, Milton  follows  Virgil.     Honoured  by  Virgil's  poetry. 

53  87.  That  strain,  etc.  Cf.  76-84.  Mood,  "  *  character,'  from 
modus,  signifying  a  particular  arrangement  of  intervals  in  the  musical 
scale.  .  .  .  The  word  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  *  mood '  or  state  of  mind  ^* 
(Jerram). 

53  88.    My  oat.     See  on  33. 

53  89.  The  Herald  of  the  Sea.  Triton,  the  son  of  Neptune,  was 
the  trumpeter  of  the  ocean,  and  raised  or  calmed  the  waves  by  blowing 
on  his  "winding  shell"  {concha).     Cf  C.  873. 

53  90.  In  Neptune's  plea.  Editors  are  divided  as  to  the  meaning 
of  plea.  Some,  with  Keightley,  think  the  word  refers  to  a  judicial 
inquiry  into  the  cause  of  Lycidas's  death  to  be  held  by  Triton  for  Nep- 
tune, while  others  think  it  means  nothing  more  than  the  defense  made 
by  Neptune  through  Triton. 

53  91.     Felon  winds.     Why  the  epithet  ? 

53  92.  What  hard  mishap,  etc.  This  is  the  actual  question  put  by 
Triton. 

53  93.  Gust  of  rugged  wings.  Explain;  cf  P.  L.  xi.  738-740. 
Every  .  .  .  each  ;  see  on  C.  19. 

53  96.     Hippotades.     ^Eolus ;  see  Class.  Diet. 

53  97.  His.  This  may  refer  to  Hippotades,  or  it  may  be  the  equiva- 
lent of  its.     It  is  not  likely  that  blast  is  personified. 


NOTES.  123 

63  98.     Level  brine.     What  does  the  epithet  imply .?     See  on  99. 

53  99.  Panope.  One  of  the  fifty  daughters  of  Nereus ;  it  is  sig- 
nificant that  the  name  (naj'67r77),  as  Jerram  remarks,  denotes  "  a  wide 
view." 

53  100.  It  was,  etc.  "  Curiously  enough,  the  poem  in  the  Cam- 
bridge collection  by  Edward  King's  brother  implies  that  the  vessel 
struck  on  a  rock  during  a  gale.  .  .  .  Probably  Henry  King  was  better 
informed  as  to  the  details  of  the  shipwreck  than  Milton  could  be. 
Nowhere  else  is  there  a  hint  that  the  ship  was  simply  unseaworthy" 
(Verity). 

53  101.  Built  in  the  eclipse.  Many  passages  might  be  quoted 
from  Greek  and  Roman  writers,  as  well  as  from  those  of  later  ages,  to 
show  that  eclipses  were  regarded  with  superstitious  awe.  It  was  thought 
that  anything  done  during  an  eclipse,  especially  if  it  was  an  eclipse  of 
the  moon,  was  bound  to  have  an  unlucky  end.  See  Brand,  Popular 
Antiquities  ;  cf.  P.  L.  i.  596-599.  Rigged  with  curses  dark.  What  do 
you  understand  by  this .'' 

53  103.  Next,  Camus,  etc.  The  tutelary  genius  of  the  river  Cam 
and  of  Cambridge  University.  Masson  quotes  a  Latin  note  to  a  Greek 
translation  of  Lycidas  by  Mr.  John  Plumtre,  which  explains  the  charac- 
teristic garb  of  Camus  :  "  The  mantle  is  as  if  made  of  the  plant  *  river- 
sponge  '  which  floats  copiously  in  the  Cam  ;  the  bonnet  of  the  river-sedge, 
distinguished  by  vague  marks  traced  somehow  over  the  middle  of  the 
leaves,  and  serrated  at  the  edge  of  the  leaves,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
ai  oX  of  the  hyacinth."  Footing  slow ;  cf.  F.  Q.  i.  3.  10:  "A  damzell 
spyde  slow  footing  her  before." 

53  105.  Figures  dim.  Warburton  thought  there  was  an  allusion 
here  to  the  "  fabulous  traditions  of  the  high  antiquity  of  Cambridge," 
but  Todd  reports  Dunster  as  remarking  "  that  on  sedge  leaves,  or  flags, 
when  dried  or  even  beginning  to  wither,  there  are  not  only  certain  dim, 
or  indistinct,  and  dusky  streaks,  but  also  a  variety  of  dotted  marks 
{scrawrd  over,  as  Milton  had  at  first  written,)  on  the  edge,  which  withers 
before  the  rest  of  the  flag." 

53  106.  That  sanguine  flower,  etc.  The  hyacinth  is  meant.  The 
marks  on  the  edge  of  the  sedge  (see  on  105)  Milton  identifies  with 
the  at  at  {alas  !  alas  ! )  which  the  Greeks  fancied  they  saw  on  the  petals 
of  the  hyacinth,  and  which  they  supposed  commemorated  the  death  of 
Hyacinthus,  the  youth  from  whose  blood  (hence  sanguine)  they  thought 
the  flower  had  sprung.  See  Class.  Diet. ;  cf.  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant 
23-27. 


124  NOTES. 

63  107.     Pledge.     Child  ;  so  pignus  in  Latin-. 

53  108.  Last  came,  etc.  For  Pattison's  comment  on  the  passage 
which  this  line  introduces,  see  Introduction,  p.  xvii. 

63  109.  The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake.  St.  Peter,  who  is  intro- 
duced as  the  representative  of  the  Church.  In  the  gospel  narrative 
Peter  is  nowhere  spoken  of  as  a  pilot,  and  the  meaning  here  probably 
is  that  he  was  the  steersman  of  his  own  ship,  a  sense  in  which  Jerram 
reminds  us  pilot  is  often  used.  It  will  be  remembered  that  King  had 
intended  to  enter  the  ministry  of  the  Church  of  England. 

63  110.  Two  massy  keys,  etc.  Cf.  Matt.  xvi.  195  it  was  tradition, 
not  Scripture,  which  made  the  number  of  the  keys  two. 

63  112.     His  mitred  locks.     Why  mitred? 

63-64  113-131.  How  well,  etc.  In  order  to  understand  the  signifi- 
cance of  this  speech,  it  is  necessary  to  know  something  of  the  poHtical 
and  religious  condition  of  England  about  the  time  Lycidas  was  written. 
See  Green,  Short  History  of  the  English  People,  Gardiner,  The  Puritan 
Revolution.  How  many,  and  what  grounds  of  complaint  does  Milton 
here  urge  against  the  clergy .? 

63  115.  Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb.  Ruskin,  in  his  Sesame  and 
Lilies,  observes  that  these  three  verbs  "  exhaustively  comprehend  the 
three  classes,  correspondent  to  the  three  characters,  of  men  who  dis- 
honestly seek  ecclesiastical  power.  First,  those  who  *  creep  '  into  the 
fold ;  who  do  not  care  for  office,  nor  name,  but  for  secret  influence,  and 
do  all  things  occultly  and  cunningly,  consenting  to  any  serviUty  of  office 
or  conduct,  so  only  that  they  may  intimately  discern,  and  unawares 
direct,  the  minds  of  men.  Then  those  who  '  intrude '  (thrust,  that  is) 
themselves  into  the  fold,  who  by  natural  insolence  of  heart,  and  stout 
eloquence  of  tongue,  and  fearlessly  perseverant  self-assertion,  obtain 
hearing  and  authority  with  the  common  crowd.  Lastly,  those  who 
*  climb,'  who  by  labour  and  learning,  both  stout  and  sound,  but  self- 
ishly exerted  in  the  cause  of  their  own  ambition,  gain  high  dignities 
and  authorities,  and  become  *  lords  over  the  heritage,'  though  not 
'  ensamples  to  the  flock.'  " 

64  117.     Shearers'  feast.     What  do  you  understand  by  this  ? 
64  118.     The  worthy  bidden  guest.     Cf.  Matt.  xxii.  8. 

54  119.  Blind  mouths  !  An  exceedingly  bold  figure,  which  may, 
however,  be  supported  by  classical  authority.  There  is  even  classical 
authority  {cf.  Horace,  Sat.  ii.  2.  39-40)  for  the  figure  that  follows,  by  which 
mouths  are  made  to  hold  A  sheep-hook,  —  an  idea  which  Landor  thought 
"  a  fitter  representation  of  the  shepherd's  dog  than  of  the  shepherd." 


NOTES.  125 

Ruskin,  nevertheless,  finds  much  to  admire  in  the  figure.  He  says  "its 
very  audacity  and  pithiness  are  intended  to  make  us  look  close  at  the 
phrase  and  remember  it.  Those  two  monosyllables  express  the  pre- 
cisely accurate  contraries  of  right  character,  in  the  two  great  offices 
of  the  Church  —  those  of  bishop  and  pastor.  A  'Bishop'  means  a 
'person  who  sees.'  A  'Pastor'  means  a  'person  who  feeds.'  The 
most  unbishoply  character  a  man  can  have  is  therefore  to  be  Blind. 
The  most  unpastoral  is,  instead  of  feeding,  to  want  to  be  fed,  —  to 
be  a  Mouth.  Take  the  two  reverses  together,  and  you  have  'blind 
mouths.'"  See  Sesame  and  Lilies  for  Ruskin's  further  comment  on 
this  figure,  as  well  as  on  the  whole  passage,  11.  1 08-1 31. 

54  122.     They  are  sped.     They  are  provided  for. 

54  123.  When  they  list.  That  is,  only  when  they  please.  Lean  ; 
meaning  here .?  Flashy ;  the  word  is  here  used  in  the  same  sense  in 
which  Bacon  uses  it  in  his  essay  Of  Studies^  where  he  speaks  of  distilled 
books  as  being  "like  common  distilled  waters,  flashy  things,"  i.e.,  "in- 
sipid," "  tasteless."     The  word  is  quite  distinct  from  o\xx  flashy,  showy. 

54  124.  Scrannel.  "  Slight ;  slender ;  thin ;  squeaking "'  {Cent. 
Diet.).  What  is  the  effect  of  the  combination  of  consonants  in  this 
line  ? 

54  126.  Wind  and  the  rank  mist,  etc.  Unsound  and  unwhole- 
some doctrines.     Draw,  inhale. 

54  128.  The  grim  wolf.  The  Church  of  Rome,  which  at  that  time 
was  winning  to  itself  many  converts.  Jerram  notes  that  "  the  simile  of 
wolves  and  sheep  assumes  three  distinct  forms  in  the  New  Testament 
—  (i)  the  wolf  in  sheep^s  clothing  (Matt.  vii.  15),  who  enters  the  fold 
under  false  pretences  ;  (2)  the  shepherd  who  for  his  rapacity  is  said  to 
devour  the  sheep  (Acts  xx.  29) ;  (3)  the  real  wolf,  prowling  outside  the 
fold  and  seeking  an  entrance.  The  last  appears  to  be  the  one  here 
intended." 

54  129.  And  nothing  said.  That  is,  the  clergy  say  nothing  against 
this  system  of  proselytism  ;  see  on  128. 

54  130-131.  That  two-handed  engine,  etc.  This  is  \}c^Qcrux  of  the 
poem.  Our  first  concern  must  be  to  get  the  general  meaning  of  the 
passage.  This  is,  "  But  the  instrument  of  retribution  is  at  hand  and  is 
ready  once  for  all  to  smite  the  corrupt  Church."  The  engine  (literally, 
"  something  skillful ")  is  called  two-handed  because  it  is  wielded  with 
two  hands.  All  this  is  clear.  The  difficulty  comes  in  getting  anything 
more  definite  out  of  the  expression  two-handed  engine.  If  Milton  in- 
tended to  convey  to  our  minds  any  particular  image,  which  is  doubtful, 


126  NOTES. 

Jerram's  explanation  is  as  good  as  any,  namely,  that  Milton  is  here  using 
the  familiar  simile  of  the  axe  "laid  unto  the  root  of  the  trees"  {Matt. 
iii.  10,  etc.).  Other  editors  have  sought  to  identify  the  two-handed 
engine  with  (2)  the  axe  with  which  Laud  was  beheaded  in  1645  '■>  (3)  the 
sword  of  the  Archangel  Michael  {P.  L.  vi.  250-253);  (4)  the  "sharp 
twoedged  sword"  of  Rev.  i.  16,  ii.  12-16;  (5)  the  English  Parliament 
with  its  two  Houses  (Masson) ;  (6)  the  scythe  of  the  executioner  Death  ; 
(7)  the  two-handed  sword  of  romance  (Warburton);  (8)  the  sword  of 
Justice  (Verity);  (9)  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  powers;  and  (10)  "the 
sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  word  of  God"  {Ephesians  vi.  17), 
which  we  wield  by  "  a  double  grip,  on  the  Old  Testament  and  on  the 
New  "  (Morley). 

54  132.  Alpheus.  The  river-god  who  pursued  Arethusa.  See 
Class.  Diet.;  cf.  85.  As  Alpheus  symbolizes  pastoral  poetry,  Milton 
now  returns,  after  his  digression  in  11.  1 08-1 31,  to  his  proper  theme. 
The  dread  voice;  cf.  112. 

54  133.  Sicilian  Muse.  The  muse  of  Theocritus,  but  here,  perhaps, 
merely  a  general  designation  of  pastoral  poetry. 

54  134.    Hither.     See  151. 

54  136.  Use.  Haunt.  The  meaning  is,  "  where  the  mild  whispers 
of  shades,  etc.,  haunt."  Can  you  explain  how  use  came  to  have  this 
meaning  "i 

54  137.     Wanton  winds.     See  on  VAl.  26-28. 

54  138.  The  swart  star.  Sirius,  the  dog-star,  called  swart  because 
it  was  thought  to  be  a  swart-m.2^\x\%  {i.e.,  tanning)  star.  Hales  says  it 
"  rose  at  Athens  about  the  time  of  the  greatest  heat,  and  was  therefore 
supposed  to  cause  that  heat." 

54  139.  Quaint.  Curious,  fantastic.  Enamelled,  "variegated  and 
glossy  as  enamel-work  "  (Verity).     Eyes,  blossoms. 

54  140.  Honeyed.  Explain  the  formation  of  this  word ;  cf.  mitred, 
112. 

54  14 1 .  Purple.  Empurple ;  but  here  used,  like  the  Latin  purpureus, 
for  any  bright  color  (Jerram).  Vernal  flowers ;  Keightley  observes  that 
some  of  the  flowers  belong  to  summer  and  autumn. 

54r-55  142-151.  Bring  the  rathe  primrose,  etc.  This  passage 
should  be  carefully  compared  with  other  passages  of  this  sort  in 
English  poetry,  —  for  instance,  Spenser,  Shepheardes  Calender,  Eel. 
iv.  136-144,  Shakspere,  W.  T.  iv.  4.  73-129,  Cymb.  iv,  2.  218-229, 
Ben  Jonson,  Pan's  Anniversary,  Milton,  P.  L.  iv.  692-703,  Keats,  En- 
dymion  ii.  408-419.     The  reader  will  also  call  to  mind  many  poems 


NOTES.  127 

like  Wordsworth's  Daffodils^  poems  devoted  to  the  praise  of  flowers. 
See  Ruskin,  Modern  Painters^  Pt.  III.  sec.  2,  chap.  3,  for  a  distinction 
between  fancy  and  imagination  as  well  as  for  the  application  of  the 
same  to  Lye.  142-148,  and  to  W.  T.  iv.  4.  1 16-125.  He  says:  "In 
Milton  it  happens,  I  think,  generally,  and  in  the  case  before  us  most 
certainly,  that  the  imagination  is  mixed  and  broken  with  fancy,  and  so 
the  strength  of  the  imagery  is  part  of  iron  and  part  of  clay."  In  1.  142 
he  finds  "Imagination,"  1.  143  "Nugatory,"  1.  144  "Fancy,"  1.  145 
"Imagination,"  1.  146  "Fancy,  vulgar,"  1.  147  "Imagination,"  1.  148 
"  Mixed."  On  the  passage  from  the  W.  T..,  he  says  :  "  Observe  how  the 
imagination  in  these  last  lines  goes  into  the  very  inmost  soul  of  every 
flower,  after  having  touched  them  all  at  first  with  that  heavenly  timid- 
ness,  the  shadow  of  Proserpine's  ;  and  gilded  them  with  celestial  gather- 
ing, and  never  stops  on  their  spots,  or  their  bodily  shape,  while  Milton 
sticks  in  the  stains  upon  them,  and  puts  us  off  with  that  unhappy  freak 
of  jet  in  the  very  flower  that  without  this  bit  of  paper-staining  would 
have  been  the  most  precious  to  us  of  all.  *  There  is  pansies,  that 's  for 
thoughts.'  " 

54  142.  Rathe.  Early;  cf.  Tennyson,  In  Memoriam  ex.  What 
meaning  do  you  find  in  primrose  ?  Why  forsaken  ?  Coleridge  called 
this  the  "sweetest  line  in  the  Lycidas"  {Anima  Poetae,  p.  61).  See 
Introduction,  xlii. 

54  144.     The  white  pink,  etc.     Cf.  C.  851. 

54  145.  Glowing.  Landor  thought  gloming  would  be  better  than 
glowing.     Do  you  agree  ? 

55  148.     Sad.     See  on  //  P.  43. 

55  149.     Amaranthus.     Etymological  meaning .?    His,  its. 

55  150.    Fill  their  cups  with  tears.     Explain. 

55  151.  Laureate.  Crowned  with  laurel.  "  The  herse  was  a  plat- 
form, decorated  with  black  hangings,  and  containing  an  effigy  of  the  de- 
ceased. Laudatory  verses  were  attached  to  it  with  pins,  wax,  or  paste." 
—  Stanley,  Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey j  p.  341  (quoted  by  Jerram). 

55  152-164.  For  so,  etc.  What  irregularity  do  you  note  in  the 
construction  of  this  passage.? 

55  153.  Surmise.  "  The  First  and  Second  Editions  have  a  full  stop 
after  *  surmise ' ;  which  rather  impairs  the  effect  of  the  meaning " 
(Masson). 

55  154.  Shores.  "Did  Milton  write  shoals?''  (Lowell).  For  a 
comment  on  this  line,  as  well  as  //  P.  74-75,  see  Lowell,  Works 
(Houghton),  Vol.  IV.  p.  100. 


128  NOTES. 

55  156.    Hebrides.     Locate. 

55  158.  The  monstrous  world.  Explain;  cf.  C.  533.  For  Shaks- 
pere's  description  of  the  monstrous  world,  see  Rich.  III.  i.  4.  16-33. 

55  159.  Moist  vows.  "  Vows  accompanied  with  tears  "  (Warton), 
possibly,  as  Bell  suggests,  referring  "  to  those  promises  of  thanksgiving 
and  offerings  made  to  Neptune  that  he  might  restore  the  bodies  of 
those  who  had  been  drowned." 

55  160.  The  fable  of  Bellerus.  The  fabled  abode  of  Bellerus. 
Bellerus  seems  to  have  been  coined  by  Milton  from  Bellerium,  the 
Roman  name  of  Land's  End. 

55  161.  The  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount.  "The*  guarded 
(fortified)  Mount '  is  a  steep  rock  opposite  Marazion  near  Penzance, 
accessible  from  the  land  at  low  water.  On  it  are  the  ruins  of  a  fortress 
and  a  monastery,  with  a  church  dedicated  to  St.  Michael ;  at  the  summit 
is  a  craggy  seat  called  St.  Michael's  chair,  in  which  several  apparitions 
of  the  archangel  are  reported  to  have  been  seen ;  hence  the  '  great 
Vision'  in  the  text"  (Jerram).  It  seems  better,  however,  to  take 
guarded  2&  referring  to  "  the  watch  kept  by  the  angel  "  (Hales). 

55  162.  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold.  Verity  has  a  long  note 
here,  in  which  he  attempts  to  show  that  Milton  may  have  got  these 
names  from  the  edition  of  Mercator^s  Atlas  published  in  1636  (Todd,  at 
the  suggestion  of  a  friend,  first  discovered  the  names  in  the  editions  of 
1623  and  1636),  in  which  Namancos  is  put  down  as  a  fortress  in  the 
Spanish  province  Galicia,  near  Cape  Finisterre,  with  the  castle  {hold) 
of  Bayona  to  the  south,  on  the  sea. 

55  163.  Angel.  St.  Michael.  For  arguments  favoring  Lycidas  as 
the  angel  addressed,  see  Jerram ;  also  consult  Trent's  note. 

55  164.     Ye  dolphins,  etc.     For  the  legend  of  Arion,  see  Class.  Diet. 

55  165.     Weep  no  more,  etc.     Keightley  thus  accentuates : 

"  Weep  n6  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  mdre." 

Cf.  Much  Ado  ii.  3.  64.  Of  the  idea  in  the  following  lines,  the  beatifica- 
tion of  the  dead,  many  examples  might  be  cited.  See  Epitaphium 
Damonis,  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant,  and  Epitaph  on  the  Marchioness  of 
Winchester. 

55  166.  Your  sorrow.  The  object  of  your  sorrow.  Name  the 
figure. 

55  168.  The  day-star.  The  sun;  cf  II  Peter  i.  19.  But  see 
Jerram,  who  thinks  that  here,  as  in  1.  30,  Milton  "  is  most  likely  to 
have  followed    the   usage  of   the  ancients,  who  commonly  speak   of 


NOTES.  129 

Lucifer  and  Hesperus  in  this  way."  See  what  Nadal  says  on  this 
passage  in  Library  of  the  World'' s  Best  Literature,  Vol.  XXV.  p.  10,044. 

55  169.     Anon.     At  once.     Repairs,  refreshes. 

55  170.  Tricks.  See  on  ///*.  123.  New-spangled  ore,  ix&^\>X-^  ^xt- 
tering  gold.  For  ore  in  the  sense  of  "  gold,"  cf.  C.  933,  Ham.  iv.  i.  25, 
A.  W.  iii.  6.  40,  etc. 

55  173.  Him  that  walked  the  waves.  Cf.  Matt.  xiv.  22  ^^  seq. 
The  allusion,  as  many  editors  have  noted,  is  supremely  apposite. 

55  174.    Other  groves,  etc.     Explain. 

55  175.  With  nectar,  etc.  Cf  C.  836  et  seq.  «'  Nectar  with  am- 
brosia is  said  to  have  been  used  by  way  of  ablution  to  preserve  immor- 
tality, as  well  as  for  the  food  and  drink  of  the  gods  "  (Jerram).  He 
compares  Lliad  xiv.  170,  xix.  39.     Oozy  locks  ;  why  the  epithet  ? 

55  176.  Unexpressive.  Inexpressible.  Nuptial  song;  cf  Rev. 
xix.  6-7. 

55  177.     Kingdoms  meek.     Explain. 

56  178.    Entertain.     Receive. 

56  181.  And  wipe  the  tears,  etc.  Cf.  Rev.  vii.  17,  xxi.  4,  Isaiah 
XXV.  8. 

56  183.  The  Genius  of  the  shore.  Note  the  return  to  paganism. 
This  mingling  of  pagan  and  Christian  elements  is  a  relic  of  the  tendency 
that  ran  riot  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  and  similar  works  of  the  Eng- 
lish Renaissance.     On  this  point  see  Beers,  Hist,  of  Eng.  Rom.,  p.  37. 

56  184.  In  thy  large  recompense.  That  is,  by  way  of  large  reward 
to  thee. 

56  185.    Perilous.     A  dissyllable. 

56  186.  Uncouth.  Unknown;  some,  however,  prefer  to  take  the 
word  in  the  sense  of  **  rude,"  "  uncultivated."     See  on  VAl.  5. 

56  187.  The  still  morn,  etc.  Cf.  C.  188-190,  P.  R.  iv.  426-427. 
Richard  Grant  White,  I  believe,  somewhere  quotes  Ham.  i.  i.  166-167, 
in  order  to  prove  the  superiority  of  Shakspere's  imagination  over 
Milton's.     Find  the  lines,  and  compare  them  with  this. 

56  188.  Stops  of  various  quills.  The  stops  are  here  the  small 
holes  in  the  shepherds'  pipes  {quills)  by  which  the  sound  is  regulated. 
See  on  C.  345  ;  cf.  Ham.  iii.  2.  360-389.     See  on  //  P.  82. 

56  189.  Doric.  Pastoral ;  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus  wrote 
the  Doric  dialect.  If  the  student  does  not  read  Greek,  he  should 
make  the  acquaintance  of  these  poets  through  the  prose  version  by 
Andrew  Lang. 

56  190.    And  now  the  sun,  etc.    Cf.  Virgil,  Eclogue  i.  84 :  Majoresque 


130  NOTES. 

cadunt  altis  de  montibus  umbra.  Do  you  get  the  full  meaning  of 
Milton's  line? 

56  193.  To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  etc.  As  Masson  observes,  this 
line  is  frequently  misquoted,  fields  being  substituted  for  woods.  He 
compares  Phineas  Fletcher,  Purple  Island  (1633),  vi.  77-78  : 

"  Home,  then,  my  lambs ;  the  falling  drops  eschew : 
To-morrow  shall  ye  feast  in  pastures  new." 

In  the  fresh  woods,  etc.,  there  is  a  very  probable  allusion  to  Milton's 
projected  Italian  tour,  if  we  do  not  read  into  the  passage  a  more 
definite  reference  than  he  intended  to  convey. 


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